Losing Control
by riversgirl75
Summary: Following the end of the war, Hermione attempts to organize her life, but love throws a wrench into her plans. Can she allow her heart to lead her mind, for once?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 - June 1999**

Control. It was Hermione Granger's favorite feeling. Control was what the "brightest witch of her age" sought at all times. In fact, she craved it. For a long time, control had been a rare, almost non-existent commodity, as she and Harry and Ron fought to vanquish Lord Voldemort and his followers, but in the year following the Final Battle, Hermione had been reunited with her favorite feeling and vowed to hold onto it indefinitely. As a result, while the wizarding world was building a safer future, Hermione was working tirelessly to organize her life in a way that allowed her to focus and balance every aspect.

Opting to complete her N.E.W.T.'s via correspondence, the bushy-haired witch had moved into the Burrow following the final battle, spending most of her time there cooped up in the small room she shared with Ginny, who had, at the insistence of her mother, returned to Hogwarts for her seventh year. When Hermione wasn't there she could be found in a well-lit, private room above the Leaky Cauldron gifted to her by grateful residents of Diagon Alley as her personal library, with books piled around her, studying hard and absentmindedly eating the meals the barkeep Tom served her. These were not typical pub-style meals, however. Part of Hermione's efforts to monitor herself included diligence in her diet, so when she first agreed to use the establishment as her new study hall, she provided Tom (much to the old wizard's dismay) a list of essential ingredients and healthy meals she would eat. And, as she was one-third of the Golden Trio who had rescued their world from destruction, who was Tom to deny her? He had told the three heroes that their money was no good at his establishment, and he begrudgingly found that he couldn't not do the genius witch's bidding.

It was on a warm spring Monday just over a year after the Final Battle that Hermione was seated in the restaurant proper, desiring a break from her self-imposed solitude but nonetheless lost in thought revising her final essay on Advanced Ancient Runes. The repetitive motion of twirling a curl around her left index finger went unnoticed by the perpetrator. So too did the spreading of ink in an increasing radius from the corner of her mouth as she distractedly nibbled the end of her quill. Wide brown eyes gazed into the ether, ignoring the reality bustling around her.

"Granger!" a loud male voice bellowed out happily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hermione's innate scowl brought upon by interruption quickly changed to a gentler expression as a broad-shouldered, red-headed man strode into her personal space.

"Hello, George; how are you?"

"Well that's awfully formal, isn't it?" George Weasley sounded a bit surprised as he began haphazardly lifting stacks of books off the seat to make himself at home. "Greetings and salutations to you too," he mocked in a formal voice, bowing grandly before sitting down.

"Sorry, I was just really concentrating - didn't mean to sound so...so…" her voice trailed off. She tensed at the sight of her study materials being touched without her permission. Leave it to a Weasley to wreak havoc at first sight.

"Stuffy? Snooty? Snobby? Sanctimonious?" George provided, his lips curling up at the corners. "See, you're not the only one with a large vocabulary!" The jokester was enjoying playing with her.

Hermione flushed and wriggled impatiently in her seat. "What do you want, George? Or did you just come to show off the fact that your word-of-the-day calendar has finally taught you something?" She grinned in triumph at gaining the upper hand. It wasn't often that someone bested the Weasley twin in humor.

"Word-of-the-day calendar?" He looked at her, confused. "Oh, let me guess, something from the Muggle world, is that it, Granger? You know you can't possibly match my wizarding wits so you resort to Muggle references. I see how it is." On the surface, George appeared offended, but Hermione knew better than to fall for his wounded act.

"Yup, that's it," she sighed, rolling her eyes but chuckling. "I guess there's no getting one over on you." She straightened up and took a sip of the tea in front of her, grimacing when she found it cold.

Eyeing the mountain of crumpled up parchment, plates of half-eaten food, and three mugs of half-drunk tea, George asked, "How long have you been sitting here?"

"Um...not too long?" Hermione looked around guiltily.

"Right." Her companion doubted her. "What say you take a break?" He stood up and held out his hand.

"Now? Like, right now? I couldn't, I can't! Exams are only two weeks away, and I haven't finished revising my Potions notes, and what if they ask about the interaction of asphodel in Wiggenweld potion? I have to review this information or else I'll fail, and if I fail I won't be able to get a job, and if I can't get a job then, then..." Hermione panicked and rambled, but eventually her words trailed off as no further excuses came to mind.

George waited patiently, grinning like the Cheshire cat, for her to come to her senses, and Hermione eventually sighed, stood, and accepted his hand. "You've got one hour, George. Where to?"

"Why don't we start with a bit of fresh air?" he suggested.

"Okay," the busy witch agreed, and she stretched her arms over her head and bent her stiff legs a little. George reached over and pulled three quills out of her messy bun, her chestnut curls cascading down to her shoulders. She blushed at the contact, and his eyes widened a bit. Without comment, the pair stepped out into the bright sunlight.

For the next hour, they strolled through Diagon Alley, window shopping and enjoying the warm weather. The two had never spent time alone with one another, which gave them a wide range of topics to chat about. Eventually, they found themselves back at the door of The Leaky Cauldron and Hermione took a step inside, but then she paused and turned back towards George.

"Thanks so much for giving me a break from my studies, George, but I'd better get back at it," she said, an air of formality returning to her voice. "I'm sure I'll see you at Sunday dinner."

"Anytime, Granger," George replied, but his smile no longer reached his eyes. "Glad to provide the distraction. See you around." He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away, head dropping.

 _That was odd,_ Hermione thought. _What happened to his mood? We had a good time, I thought._ She shrugged and gathered her books up, apparating to the Burrow in time for dinner. As she freshened up, her mind returned to that final moment with George. She was flummoxed. Why would he look so downtrodden suddenly?

 _Although, it's not like he doesn't have a completely legitimate reason to be upset,_ she acknowledged. Fred's death during the Battle at Hogwarts cast a deep depression on the remaining twin, a shadow that had hung over him solidly for the first six months afterwards and lingered still. But with his friends' and family's love and support, over time he decided to rebuild their store and prepare it to reopen, and a few months later, Weasley Wizard Wheezes was resuscitated, in turn breathing life into the remaining founder. George thrived running the shop again, as much as one could call it that after losing his other half. He finally started coming to dinner every Sunday at the Burrow, cracked jokes more frequently, and he even played a few pranks like old times, though his tricks were a little more predictable these days, and his smiles never quite reached his bright blue eyes. In fact, Hermione realized, his recent antics were nothing more than recycled pranks he and Fred used to pull.

A thought occurred to Hermione: _Does Weasley Wizard Wheezes have any new products? Has he stopped inventing?_ She paused in her hair brushing and tried to remember the last time she saw George covered in soot, slime, or dangerous potion. Ultimately, she realized, she hadn't. Her thoughts swirled around George's predicament as she headed to the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione was distracted all through dinner. She viewed George as a problem to solve, and her take-charge nature hated that she could not come up with a solution off the top of her head. She had worked very hard over the past twelve months to put the pieces of her life back together in a comfortable order. First, there was the task of burying the dead, which sadly, she became all too good at managing. She took it upon herself to aide her mourning friends and fellow wizards, organising schedules, locations, and other necessary funeral arrangements for a half dozen lost loved ones. A month later she and Ron traveled to Australia to recover her parents, which also, rather unexpectedly, gave her an opportunity to sort out their relationship. As they searched for "Monica and Wendell Wilkins," the romantically conflicted pair came to the disappointing yet honest conclusion that their passion for bickering did not translate into a passionate love for one another. Every conversation about taking the next steps as a couple led them to realize the friends were picturing two very different futures. In the end, they spent the time mourning the loss of something they never truly had, engaging in a break-up that would permit them to remain friends, though slightly awkward for awhile.

Unfortunately, the objective of the trip was not met. Within a week of their arrival, Ron and Hermione had found Hermione's parents in Melbourne; however, there was no safe way to reverse the complex spells Hermione had cast to obliviate all memories of her from their lives, in spite of her careful preparation and planning. Unable to leave without closure, Hermione met the Wilkinses by pretending to be an exchange student staying in the area for a few days, and then she left forever, knowing she would never see them again. The pain of losing her parents destroyed the young witch's emotional barriers, and Ron stayed by her side as she grieved her terrible loss.

In honor of her lost parents and their dedication to their daughter's education, Hermione decided to finish her schooling. In August she arranged a meeting with Headmistress McGonagall, who recommended that the young heroine complete her coursework independently and owl it to her professors monthly. Hermione was relieved by the offer and accepted it graciously. She couldn't fathom re-entering the grounds or castle she now considered hallowed. Not yet, anyway. And now, a year later, she finally felt confident that she was taking back her life and moving into adulthood on her own terms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - August 1999**

Two months after her chance meeting with George, Hermione rose from bed early in the morning and tiptoed across the room, sneaking out quietly so as not to awaken the lump that was Ginny snoring lightly in the other bed. She changed her clothes in the bathroom, brushed her teeth, pulled her curls into a high ponytail, and exited the Burrow for her morning run. Running had become a habit for the witch over the past several months. Immediately after Voldemort's defeat, all three of the wizarding world's saviours were quite ill - exhaustion and malnourishment, on top of their many injuries from battling Dark wizards and witches, taking hold as soon as they stopped running for their lives. They resisted prolonged treatment at St. Mungo's, insisting Molly Weasley's watchful eye and delicious cooking rivaled any antidote a Healer might offer, and as such were permitted to return to the Burrow to recover. All three were gaunt: their faces hollow, their eyes sunken, their skin sallow. But in just a few weeks' time, with nothing permitted but sleeping and eating, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had each returned to a healthy weight and felt much better, at least physically. In fact, when Hermione traveled to Australia, she realized she had taken too much advantage of the chance to be lackadaisical; she grew winded easily as they traversed the country, and her clothes felt snug. Ron politely said nothing, but she suspected he could see her discomfort. Hermione was ashamed that she had neglected to care for her body, and she was not going to tolerate it. Thus, as soon as they returned to England the determined girl put herself on a healthy diet and exercise regimen that included running and yoga. Soon, she could feel and see the benefits of her actions, and once again, Hermione felt that she owned herself fully.

This warm summer day's run was no different than any other in recent memory. She performed her pre-run stretches and jogged the usual five-mile trail, reciting potions recipes and charms alphabetically to keep her mind busy. But her return was met by a disruption to her schedule, as George Weasley was casually leaning against the Burrow's shed, juggling her water bottle, apparently waiting for her. As she slowed to a walk, panting, sweat running in rivulets down her face and body, she eyed the troublemaker suspiciously.

"Mornin' Granger," George drawled affably. "What a sight you are this early in the day." He smiled teasingly and held out her drink, which she snatched out of his hands and gulped down.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Hermione asked with raised eyebrows. She leaned against the shed's wall, stretching her calves, her breath beginning to slow. "Or, based on your outfit, should I assume you were heading out on a run yourself?" She smirked a bit, seeing that George was dressed in what could only be considered out-of-date Muggle running clothes - a tight-fitting vest and short running shorts, the outfit topped off with purple sweatbands on each wrist and across his forehead.

George's cheeks reddened as he looked down at his clothes and offered an explanation. "I, uh, I thought if I got here ready to workout that you might let me join you," he began, "but I see I showed up too late. And these clothes...well, I wasn't sure what to wear, and I saw something like this in one of my dad's Muggle magazines. I mean, it's not like I dressed like this at Quidditch practice. I didn't think that kit would be appropriate for a run though." His embarrassment was evident as he kicked at the tufts of grass at his feet.

Hermione felt awful for mocking his efforts.

"I'm just teasing, George. Hey." She nudged him with her elbow until his eyes met hers. "You are definitely dressed for running, it's just, your dad's magazine must be about twenty years old or something because your clothes are a little dated." She smiled apologetically, softening her voice, and speaking sincerely. "Did you really come here to go running with me?"

"Well, I mentioned that I wanted to get back into shape, and Mum said that you get up every morning for a run. You know how she is, anything to get her kids to visit. But I had no idea you liked to run in the dark, Granger. Was the sun even up when you came out?" The mood lightened at this point, and George watched appreciatively as Hermione, sporting a dri-fit tee and leggings dropped down and spread her legs into a V, stretching forward, her chest nearly touching the ground.

"So anyway, could I join you tomorrow?" the distracted ginger asked quickly, hoping the petite brunette hadn't been able to read his mind.

"No," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. George looked startled as she pulled herself up off the ground and mopped her face with the bottom of her shirt, briefly exposing her toned stomach. "I won't be running tomorrow, I'll be doing yoga. I alternate days," she explained, not catching the flicker of his eyes over her body. "So, if you want to work on your flexibility come on over, but if you're interested in cardio, I'll run again in two days."

"Are you propositioning me, Granger? Interested in testing my flexibility?" The witty jokester couldn't stop himself from jumping at that opening. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh George, really!" the witch admonished, uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken. "Never mind then!" She stormed toward the house, not sure if she was angry or embarrassed. _Probably embarrassed,_ she quickly realized.

"Hermione, wait up!" George's long stride caught her easily. He reached out and grabbed her arm to pull her to a stop.

Panicking, Hermione bellowed, "LET GO!" She yanked back hard from George's loose grip, shaking herself free. Immediately, she snapped her head down and took a huge breath, calming down and realizing what she'd just done.

"'Merlin! What the hell?" George was incredibly confused and, to be honest, hurt, at her reaction to his friendly touch.

"George, I'm so sorry!" she stuttered her apology, shocked, and began digging into the recesses of her mind for an explanation. "I don't know what that was about! I knew you were kidding around, I didn't mean to react that way." A tear ran down her cheek as she searched George's face for his response.

Concern filled his blue eyes. "Don't worry about me - I can handle being rejected by a witch once in awhile - can't say it's the first time, and it probably won't be the last, I'm betting, but more importantly, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I think…" she hesitated. "I'm so sorry. I know those are just words, but really, I am. And I'm embarrassed. And…"

"And nothing, Granger," George looked at her gently, walking up the porch steps and into the house with her. "As long as you're okay. I certainly didn't mean to hurt you or anything."

As they entered the kitchen and the usual breakfast bustle, Hermione pulled on the sweatband wrapped around George's wrist and spoke quietly so only he could hear. "Thank you, George. And will you please join me in two days for a run? Say, 5:30?" She looked up into his eyes.

"How could I turn you down?" George responded eagerly. "I'll be there with bells on!"

Hermione laughed loudly, drawing the attention of Ginny and Mr. Weasley. "Knowing you, I wouldn't be surprised!" she retorted. The odd encounter over, Hermione ran up the narrow stairs to the bathroom for a quick shower. George took a seat at the table and started eating everything in sight. He didn't even notice his sister's puzzled look at his choice of attire.

In the shower, Hermione thought hard about what had just happened. _Why did I freak out about George grabbing me?_ she pondered. But she didn't have to wonder for long.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time an unexpected touch had caused her to lose control. Once, when they first arrived in Australia, Ron had walked up behind her and put his arms over her shoulders, hugging her, and she instinctively jabbed him with her elbows, kicked him in the shins, and spun around, wand raised, screaming hexes. Luckily for Ron she was too hysterical to aim well, but he was still terribly hurt by her behavior, and she was embarrassed and upset for the rest of that day. A few months ago, Harry tried to get her attention when she was engrossed in a book, and when she felt an unexpected tug on her sleeve she screamed and lashed out, punching him in the face and breaking his glasses and nose.

 _So, what did these events have in common?_ She sighed, toweling off and charming her hair smooth. As she dressed the answer hit her - _The unexpected_. She hadn't been prepared for the contact and it had scared her awfully.

She hated to delve much deeper into that train of thought. It wasn't hard to figure out why her automatic response to being startled was resorting to violence. Having had her safety threatened repeatedly over six years at Hogwarts and then spending a year running both from and toward evil had destroyed any level of safety she may have felt. The sense of security she'd regained over this past year had, apparently, only been predicated on her being in control of the situation and knowing exactly what was about to happen. She sighed as she put these pieces together.

 _Well, they say knowing is half the battle,_ she muttered inside her head. _Now, how do I fix the problem?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - August 1999**

Two days later, Hermione and George headed out together in the early morning light. At first she felt awkward, as she'd never had a workout partner before. She wasn't sure if she should try to make conversation or if he would need his wind for keeping pace with her. Since he had mentioned a desire to "get back into shape," she was operating under the assumption that he was currently out of shape. However, less than half a mile down the trail, the young witch slowed down and allowed him to pull ahead so she could study him. In his much more appropriate apparel, Hermione could easily see that George was in terrific physical health. His fitted tee hugged his broad, muscular shoulders and lean torso, and his arms flexed as he swung them for momentum. His legs - she found her eyes gazing in admiration of George's bottom half - well, it was easy to see that every inch of his legs were toned. His years of playing beater had done him well, it appeared, and Hermione took in the sight appreciatively.

"If this is how you look when you're out of shape," she mused, "what did you look like when you were really fit?" George turned his head in her direction and pulled up alongside her.

"What was that, Granger?" he asked, an amused look in his eyes.

 _Oh no! Did I say that out loud?_ Hermione cursed herself.

"Er, um, I was just noticing that you seem to be keeping up really well, so I was wondering why you were so keen to work out with me, if you're already in such good shape." She hoped her light tone and big eyes would make her salacious thoughts seem less evident.

George winked at her, a sly smile curving the corners of his mouth, and said, "Well, let's put it to the test then. Race you!" And leaving a wide gap between them, he took off up the trail.

"No fair! You got a head start!" Hermione shouted, laughing, as she sprinted towards him. But George's legs, so much longer than hers, gave him an unfair advantage, and he stayed in the lead for another half-mile, until, clutching a stitch in his side, he slowed to a walk,.

"See, this is why I need to exercise more," he explained, wincing as he panted through his words. "Used to be a time that I could run five miles and feel no pain."

"Well, we're not kids anymore, George," Hermione admonished. She caught up to him and slowed her gait to match his.

"Touché," the ginger quipped. "No need to remind me of my advanced age." He smiled, his breath slowing a bit, the cramp subsiding.

"Oh yes, old man," Hermione teased, "Your age is definitely a detriment. I mean, how do you expect to woo young women with your hair turning gray and your wrinkles showing?"

Shocked, George stopped dead in his tracks and began running his fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to see the tips of his red locks. "What?! Gray hair?" he asked, honestly panicking. He looked back at Hermione, who had also stopped moving, only to see her bent double and shaking with laughter.

"Oh Merlin, you really are that vain!" she howled. "You should see the look on your face! Get over yourself - at twenty-one, do you honestly expect to be going gray?" She was delighted at pulling a joke, however small, on the most infamous prankster in the modern wizarding world.

"Ha ha, Granger," George, who was red in the face from more than just his physical exertion, growled. "At least I woo women; at least I try. Unlike you, a hermit at nineteen." His eyes twinkled playfully at her but quickly lost all mirth when he saw her face freeze over. She began walking quickly back toward the Burrow, retracing the route they'd been taking.

"Wait up! I was only kidding!"

He picked up the pace as she moved into a run, sprinting to catch her. As he pulled alongside, he reached his arm out to try to stop her, but he must have remembered what happened the last time he touched her, and he drew his arm back abruptly.

"Hermione, please!" he pleaded. "Stop running and let me apologize. I didn't mean anything by it!" There was an honest urgency in his voice that caught her off guard, and without thinking, she slowed down and turned to face him, her hands on her hips.

"Fine. You have two seconds. I'm listening." She crossed her arms over her chest and pushed her nose into the air expectantly.

He paused, clearly preparing his apology so as to avoid offending the sensitive witch.

"I'm sorry, okay? I thought you knew me well enough to know when I was kidding. I was enjoying our banter but I took it too far; I see that now. You're a pretty, brilliant young witch - of course I'd make a joke about you not being able to get a date. The blokes must get in line to ask you out!" His cheeks flushed, and Hermione briefly wondered if that was for more reasons than the exertion.

Hermione's brown eyes, which were originally glaring at George's cornflower blue ones, sank lower and lower as his apology turned complimentary.

 _Pretty? He thinks I'm pretty?_ she internalized. Her blush matched his as she considered his apology.

 _Get over yourself,_ a little voice in the back of her head chastised. _That was not supposed to be the takeaway here._

 _But, the rest of the apology was equally kind,_ she reasoned with herself. Curiosity got the better of her and she raised her eyes, catching him looking at her at the exact same moment.

"Apology accepted," she stated shyly. "And George," she advised, "the next time you want to compliment a girl, don't begin with an insult!" And with that, she raced down the trail back to the Burrow, leaving him in her dust once more.

"You little…" George began, mouth hanging open at having been bested by the most serious person he knew. He headed back to the Burrow as well, at a more leisurely pace, and if she had looked back, Hermione would have seen the wizard admiring the view and enjoying himself every step of the way.

 **~oOo~**

A week later, George sat on the couch at the Burrow, his brow knit in concentration

as he deliberated the notebook in front of him. The rest of the house was silent, one of those rare moments where everyone was out, leaving only two at home. He was so focused that he didn't hear the slight creak of the floorboard as Hermione entered the room. In the meantime, Hermione was so engrossed in _Hogwarts, A History_ that she didn't realize at first that she wasn't alone. Just in time to avoid walking directly into the back of the couch, she looked up and saw a mass of messy red hair sitting atop a bent neck that was hunching over something on the owner's lap.

 _George,_ she smiled to herself. _What is he doing?_

She crept around the side of the couch to glimpse George's face, and was taken aback. His expression was one she had rarely seen on a Weasley twin's face. He was frowning. The downturned corners of his mouth and the creases on his forehead were so unnatural that Hermione grew concerned. What could possibly be causing his face to look like this? Of course he'd done far more than frown before - losing his twin had left him absolutely bereft, and his always-twinkling eyes had lost their luster for a long time, but recently he seemed to be finding his own way back to the funny, fun-loving side of his personality, so seeing him looking upset right now alarmed Hermione.

Looking down, she saw what his attention was focused on - a well-worn notebook. While she wasn't close enough to read the writing, she made out what appeared to be Arithmancy algorithms, drawings, and annotations that could only be one thing - potion formulas. George was studying the notes he and Fred had made through the years, she realized. It warmed Hermione's heart to see him so hard at work, so she attempted to tiptoe backwards out of the room to leave him in peace.

BANG! THUD!

"Ow! Bugger! Ow!" Hermione moaned, rubbing her elbow where it had banged the corner of the doorway. She quickly bent down to pick up her book, which she had dropped on impact. She stood back up and found herself face to face with George.

 _So much for being subtle,_ she sighed inwardly.

"George, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bother you!" the distracted girl began, but she was cut off.

"Granger, are you alright?" George reached out slowly, so that she could see his intentions, and put his arm around her shoulder, guiding her to the couch. "You hurt?"

"I'm, I'm fine…" her words trailed off as he took the book from her hands and straightened her injured arm out, then bent the elbow to ensure it still worked. His touch was so gentle and soft that her breath hitched in her throat. She lost her focus as he pushed up her sleeve to see if she was bruised. As she realized exactly what he was doing, however, she returned to herself and jumped up, abruptly pushing her sleeve down and stepping away.

"I'm really okay, George - it was just startling. I didn't mean to interrupt you. In fact, my clumsiness was a result of my attempt to leave you alone, and you can see how well that went." Her attempt to be self-deprecating and funny was weak even to her thinking, so she simply ignored the look on his face that clearly told her he had seen the marks on her arm.

The marks on her arm. They were the scars left over from exposure to Dark magic, and they were permanent. Scattered over various areas of her body lay small, shiny patches of skin that from a distance were indistinguishable, but up close couldn't be missed. The Cruciatus curse and other hexes used by Bellatrix Lestrange as well as the vicious Dark magic she had encountered while hunting Horcruxes had left these reminders forever on her body, no matter how much she tried to forget what she had been through. For months after, lightly touching the scars proved painful, but time was finally providing healing relief. The physical signs would never go away, so Hermione had tried to keep them covered by using glamour charms. Today she had forgotten, it would seem, and thus anyone who came as close to her as George had wouldn't be able to miss the ugly blemishes that littered her once-smooth skin.

The embarrassed witch fled while George sat gaping. Her feet instinctively drew her up the stairs and into her shared bedroom, the door shutting loudly. The look on George's face told her he understood what he had seen. Tears sprang unbidden to her mind as she cursed herself for letting her guard down. The defensive witch paced back and forth to regain her composure.

 _Ok, so he has definitely seen the scars, but so what?_ she reasoned. _After all, he's got a hole in the side of his head. He knows all about war wounds. And it's not like he looked disgusted or anything. More like, surprised, is all._ She took a deep breath. It wasn't the end of the world for George to have seen her as she truly was, but it was unnerving to know that someone had accidentally broken through the barriers she'd constructed since the war to protect herself. Just as Mad-Eye Moody once insisted on "CONSTANT VIGILANCE" as his mantra, Hermione had adopted the concept of "COMPLETE CONTROL" as hers, and for the past year, it had protected her, walling out any dangers that vulnerability could lead her into. But George Weasley had been penetrating that wall. Over the past few months, every time she came into contact with him, she lost her focus. She allowed him to distract her from her studies, from her workouts, from her strict lifestyle. And the biggest surprise was that she hadn't regretted it. But why? What was he offering her that she was missing?

 _Oh, I don't know, fun?_ A little voice nagged inside her head. _When he's around, you have fun!_ It pointed out to her.

 _Yeah, but so what?_ Another voice reprimanded. _Fun is temporary; fun gets in the way of the important things, like succeeding on your N.E.W.T.s and staying in shape._

She argued with the second voice. _You received all Outstandings on your N.E.W.T.s last month, and you are in better shape now than you have ever been in your life. So what's wrong with a little fun? And besides, what about George's problem? What about his lack of inventiveness? What if you focused on someone else right now, instead of mooning over your scars and your past?_

In answer, Hermione headed back downstairs to the living room, convinced it was her job to fix George.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - August 1999**

"I'm coming back down," she warned jokingly in a sing-song voice, making her intentions known.

"Thanks for the warning!" George smiled at her humor, closing the notebook and placing it on the coffee table in front of him. "I'll have my wand ready to heal in case you get hurt entering the room again," he joked as she walked back into the living room.

"What are you studying?" Hermione asked with honest interest, sitting down on the couch, but as far from him as possible.

It was George's turn to become a bit nervous and shy. "Nothing much," he muttered, pulling at a thread on the worn cushion beneath him.

"George," Hermione began gently, "are those your product notes? The work you and Fred did together?" She spoke carefully, watching his eyes and holding her breath as she waited to see if he would answer.

He swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, it is," he said, his eyes round and flickering up to her face briefly.

"It must be hard to see his handwriting and to remember the fun you two had inventing together." Her words were almost a whisper, and her hand reached out, moving a lock of hair across his forehead that had fallen into his face.

This action caused him to lift his head and look her fully in the face, inhaling deeply at the compassionate contact. The color in his eyes seemed to deepen and his pupils dilated as he stared at the pretty witch before him, but he fought the sudden urge to kiss her, instead choosing to smile sadly and pick up the green notebook and toss it into her lap.

"You can look at it," he offered. He ran his hand through his hair in the way she had come to recognize was a nervous response. She did not miss what a grand gesture he had just made. Letting her see the work he had so passionately created with his best friend, his other half, was in no way easy. It made him vulnerable, which was not something he was used to anymore.

Hermione ran her fingers delicately over the cover of the notebook. It wasn't a special book by its type - just an ordinary spiral-bound notebook. In fact, she realized, she hadn't seen one of those in years.

"Is this a Muggle notebook?"

The redhead nodded. "It is. Fred and I bought it at a muggle shop when we were roaming around London one time when we were ten. We snuck away from Mum, who was trying to buy a toaster for Dad for his birthday and we found ourselves in muggle London without a clue. You should have seen us trying to pay for it…" His voice trailed off fondly, and a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "I haven't thought of that day in a long time."

George glanced over at Hermione with a red ear and wet eyes, but he quickly blinked them dry. One tear, however, snuck down his cheek. Gently, the witch leaned over, cupped his face in her hand, and with her thumb, brushed the stray tear away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I was hoping you would feel happy remembering Fred." She regretted coming back downstairs and intruding on his moment. He looked so open at that moment that Hermione was a little awed by the raw emotion she was witnessing.

"I spent twenty years of my life with Fred and only a year without him, and I forget almost everyday that he's not here. I look for him when something happens that we would have laughed about together; I wait for him to finish my sentences; I want so much to hear his voice again, to get his advice about a product, to have his help with this stupid potion I can't figure out!" His fingers balled into fists as his frustration mounted, and he huffed out his breath and wiped his hands down his face. "But he's gone. He's gone and he's not coming back, and I have to live with that every single day. I have to remind myself of that every single morning. And frankly, I'm sick of it. I'm tired of being sad. I'm tired of feeling empty. I'm tired of missing him - " His voice broke and he got up and stalked out of the house, the kitchen door banging on its hinges.

Hermione sat silently, shocked by his outburst but also taking a beat to gather her thoughts. While she assumed she could help George, she hadn't expected such a profession of grief and struggle. At the same time she felt honored to be trusted her with his real emotions. She rose and followed his path outside, finding him slumped against the oak tree at the edge of the garden.

"Hey..." she said cautiously.

He turned and looked at the bushy-haired witch shamefully.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shove all of that off on you."

George straightened his shoulders as she came to a stop directly in front of him, and as he looked down at her, she realized just how small she was compared to him. Then he did something that surprised both of them by reaching out and hugging her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head and taking deep, cleansing breaths.

Hermione leaned into the wizard before her, immediately responding by wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat.

"Please don't apologize for expressing your grief," she murmured compassionately but firmly. "You don't owe anyone an explanation." She closed her eyes and the two stood still, holding onto each other.

After a few moments George drew back slightly, looking down into Hermione's eyes, a question on his face.

He took one of her hands in his and asked, "Why does it seem like every time we're together we end up having to apologize?" He smiled a little as he played with her small fingers, intertwining them with his but then quickly releasing them.

Hermione laughed lightly and took her hand back reluctantly, her fingers tingling. "We do say we're sorry to each other a lot, don't we?"

"Have I caused you pain?"

She chewed her lip in thought before replying. "You haven't hurt me, George, and you've assured me that I haven't hurt you either. Our regrets come from sharing our feelings, not for causing pain."

"I think you're right," he agreed, nodding. "We both keep asking for forgiveness when we get upset." He grew silent, pondering this notion.

The little witch huffed out a harsh breath. "It's as if now that the war is over, we're supposed to just move on. We're supposed to forget what we saw and we we did and what we lost and just be happy." Her words flew from her mouth as her ideas came to her. "Maybe we can relate to the other's issues? I mean, even though I didn't lose a brother, and you weren't tortured, we somehow understand each other, don't we?"

George was nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, exactly. You just get it, Grange - wait. Uh - tortured?" He stopped short, suddenly processing what she had just said.

"I...I, I thought you knew." Hermione's chin dropped to her chest, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Knew? How would I know? What do you mean? You were tortured?" His eyes flashed, alternating between anger and concern.

"Oh…" She paused. Her eyes scanned the ground at her feet and her teeth worried her

lower lip. She hadn't meant to say anything about her own experience. Sensing her upset, George put his arm around her shoulder and guided her back toward the house.

He spoke calmly. "I'm guessing you are referring to the events that brought you and Ron and Harry to Shell Cottage? No, don't answer me. This is too much for us both right now. I'm sor - No, never mind." They both smiled at the non-apology.

The pair re-entered the Burrow in silence.

"I have an idea," George finally said, lightening the mood a little with his gentle tone. "If you ever want to talk about what happened, I'm here to listen. In the meantime, how about a cup of tea and a favor?"

Hermione looked back into the gentle wizard's eyes, relieved that he wasn't going to press her for details about her trauma. "Tea, yes. But, a favor? What do you mean?"

He looked a little nervous as he answered her. "Well, you've seen the notebook. I was trying to work out a potion that Fred…" he paused after saying the name, as if he couldn't go on, but then he took a deep breath and finished. "...that Fred and I had just started creating for a new product. But now - " another pause, this one slightly shorter, "I'm stuck, and who better to ask for help than the brightest witch of her age?" His cheeks flushed and he smiled with hope as he waited for her answer.

"Love to," Hermione breathed her response. _Merlin, what did I just agree to do?_

~oOo~

A few hours later, Molly and Arthur returned via the floo to their kitchen fireplace, arms loaded with parcels. As they dusted themselves off, they were taken aback by the unlikely pair sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the kitchen table, heads together, pouring over a notebook and pieces of parchment and talking in excited tones.

"So, if we increase the bubotuber pus here…"

"Yes, but only by half. And then add just a dash of powdered essence of myrtlap - "

" - while stirring counterclockwise, and…"

George and Hermione looked at each other with bright smiles and finished together, "we got it!"

Molly's eyes filled with tears and she rushed over to the two, stood behind their chairs and hugged their heads to her bosom.

"My darlings!" she wailed. "Oh, it's just wonderful to see you two working on...working on, well, whatever it is you're doing! Now, don't let us get in your way -" She released them, bustling away and pushing Arthur out of the kitchen. " Shoo, my dear! We must let George and Hermione work!" And as suddenly as it had begun, the frenzy ended, and they were left alone again.

"Well, that was unexpected," Hermione muttered, attempting to fix her hair. George reached over and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.

"A bit barmy, that one," he chuckled.

Likewise, she patted the top of his hair in an effort to flatten out some of the flaming tufts that were standing on end courtesy of his mother's excitement.

Hermione thought out loud. "I've spent the last year living here either exercising or studying, and I know you come around a lot, but when was the last time you created something new? I bet she was thrilled to see us collaborating because it probably made her feel like things are returning to normal - whatever that is."

"You've got everything figured out, haven't you?" George looked over at her with admiration.

"No, not at all," Hermione admitted, and her voice softened in respect for Mrs. Weasley. "But I've seen your mum struggle, what with all the changes in this household. Bill and Fleur only visit about once a month, Charlie less than that, Ron's off at Auror training, Harry and Ginny are moving in together - "

"What was that last one?" George interrupted. "What's the boy-who's-about-to-die doing with my innocent little sister?" His protective nature flared and his fists curled and uncurled at this unexpected news.

Hermione giggled, finding his overprotective brother mode adorable. "Oh please, she's hardly innocent, George! And besides, didn't you listen the other night in the living room? Those two were whispering all about it. They are planning to ask your parents if they can move into Grimmauld Place together now that she's done with school for good."

"I must have missed that," George answered, calming considerably but still looking displeased. "When are they going to ask?"

"I think tomorrow, after the family dinner," Hermione said thoughtfully. She examined George's suddenly far-away expression. "George, what are you thinking?"

"I was just imagining what it would be like to be a fly on that wall - my sweet baby sister asking if she can cohabitate with her boyfriend? They're not even engaged! Mum'll have kittens!" He sat back, his eyes brightening with an idea. "Of course - Extendable Ears! What do you say, Granger? Wanna be in on this conversation?"

Hermione laughed and shook her head in hesitation. Her old self would never even consider eavesdropping, and she immediately pictured herself scolding Fred and George for similar past infractions. But her reluctance fled when she considered that George needed a partner in crime more than he needed a reprimand. After all, what could it hurt?

"That's really terrible, George," she admonished. "But, why not?" They grinned conspiratorially at one another.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - August 1999**

The next day was Sunday, which meant it was a family dinner for the Weasleys. Everyone except Charlie was coming. In the morning, Bill and Fleur had sent their owl with a message that they had an important announcement to make, which filled Molly with anticipation. Ginny and Harry were apparently attempting to demonstrate their maturity and responsibility, as they brought Teddy Lupin with them that day, giving Andromeda a much-needed day off. Not that anyone was noticing the couple's efforts except for Hermione and George. Those two had staked out the perfect placement for an Extendable Ear that morning, though they hadn't yet brought it out, in case anyone found it before it could be put to use.

Dinner was a cosy affair. In fact, there was a little more levity to the meal than there had been in quite a while, as George seemed to be in an especially mischievous mood, and Hermione was unusually talkative. She was engrossed in a conversation with Arthur and Percy about recent developments in laws regarding the definition of and rights of Magical Creatures. Ron was sitting on one side of her, shoveling food into his face as fast as he could and telling anyone who would listen about the strenuous physical training he was enduring. George sat on Hermione's other side, making faces at Teddy, whose hair changed color every time he squealed with delight. Ginny and Harry exchanged nervous glances periodically, and Bill and Fleur looked blissful as he filled her plate up with seconds and she emitted a light, twittering laugh and tried to decline. All of this occurred under the watchful eye of Molly, who just smiled and watched her brood in peace.

"Everyone, Fleur and I would like to share some happy news," Bill stated at the end of the meal, rising from his chair. He looked down at his beautiful wife, who smiled up at him and nodded encouragingly. "We're pregnant! Baby Weasley will be here in a little over seven months!"

Hoots, hollers, and congratulatory cheers filled the room. Mrs. Weasley nearly collapsed in a heap of joy, causing Mr. Weasley to rush to her side and hold her tightly. Everyone took turns hugging Fleur and congratulating Bill, while Teddy, startled by the sudden commotion, began to cry. Hermione rushed over and scooped him up, cradling him against her.

"Oh buddy, it's okay. Shhhh… It's okay. There now," she cooed softly to him. The sixteen-month old calmed quickly as she bounced him gently in her arms and explained that there was a baby in Fleur's belly.

"Beebee?" the little one attempted, eyes wide. His hair turned pink and he looked at Fleur curiously, as if he expected to see a baby at that moment. George came around to Hermione's side and heard Teddy's adorable exclamation.

"That's right, little guy, a baby. You'll have a friend to play with soon!" He ruffled Teddy's now Weasley-orange hair and blew a raspberry on his cheek, making both the boy and Hermione giggle.

"You're good with him, George," she complimented as Ginny walked over to take the child to the sink to wash his hands.

"Well, Miss Granger, if you spend enough time with me, you'll find that I am a man of many talents." He winked at her, then leaned in, rolling up the sleeves of his light blue button-down and whispered conspiratorially, "Do you think Ginny and Harry will still try to talk to Mum and Dad? Or did this new development overshadow?"

Hermione leaned even closer to George's ear and softly replied, "Not sure. I'll stay close to Ginny and see if she lets on." Her breathy voice blew into his ear lightly. As she pulled back, a lock of her hair brushed against his cheek, but she turned away so quickly that she missed his shudder.

Hermione felt a bit breathless after her moment of conspiring with George. _Spearmint,_ she detected, among other scents. _He smells nice..._ Her thoughts trailed off and she found herself standing alone in the middle of the kitchen, staring into space.

"Ginny!" she quickly called. "Can I help you with Teddy?" And she hurried away into the living room, snapping out of her momentary lapse so that their plan could come together.

 **~oOo~**

"Okay it looks like it's on tonight after Bill and Fleur leave," Hermione whispered over the back of the couch George was sitting on.

"Brilliant!" he whispered in reply, his eyes sparkling. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Ron, seeing the two in yet another quiet conversation, sauntered over.

"Oi! What are you two getting on about? You've been whispering all night! Fill me in!" He spoke quietly, though not as quietly as they had. Harry and Ginny looked over from the corner of the room where they were playing with a toy Hogwarts Express with Teddy.

George and Hermione smiled and laughed, attempting to act as if they just invited Ron to join into a perfectly normal conversation. Harry and Ginny went back to their previous occupation, and the two planners refused Ron's request.

"Oh come on, 'Mione!" Ron pleaded, much quieter this time. "What kind of secrets could you possibly be keeping with my brother?"

 _That's right,_ Hermione worried to herself. _George is Ron's brother. Ron, with whom I was presumed to date. Ron, who has kissed me and at one time wanted to be romantically involved with me. As far as he knows, I barely know George. What would he think of our, er, friendship?_

George took the reins. "Actually, Ron, we're both pretty good secret keepers." He winked at Hermione and she felt a bit better. "But, this one we can let you in on." And he whispered their plan to Ron, who was incredulous that his best mate hadn't even told him about his plans to move in with his girlfriend.

"I want in! No way I'm missing Harry squirming in front of Mum and Dad!" Ron insisted. Hermione and George nodded assent, and two pranksters became three for the evening.

An hour later, Bill took a tired Fleur in his arms and flooed home. Ginny gave a pointed look to Harry, who didn't catch it at first, but then he called over to Hermione, who was trying to appear engrossed in a Muggle romance novel she had summoned from her room.

"Hey Hermione?" her best friend asked. His green eyes shifted uncomfortably between her, Ron, and George, all of whose heads shot up when he spoke.

"What's up, Harry?" Hermione asked innocently, a smile trying to sneak out, but she fought it back with all her might. Harry crossed the room with a sleepy Teddy in his arms and asked if she would mind rocking him so that he and Ginny could have a few minutes' break. Hermione took the beautiful bundle onto her lap, agreeing happily, and Ginny stood up, took Harry's hand, and headed into the kitchen.

"Mum?" they heard Ginny call tentatively. "Erm, could Harry and I have a word with you and Dad?"

That was their cue. Teddy was sound asleep, so Hermione laid him down and covered him lightly. George disappeared up the stairs as she did, clearly having placed a silencing charm over the normally creaky staircase. Ron followed suit with Hermione right behind him stifling a giggle. She'd never been part of a playful spy mission before, she realized. Anytime she'd engaged in listening in or peering into another person's private moment, it had been to obtain life-saving or horcrux-finding-and-destroying information. This was pure fun, anything could happen, and she found herself liking the rush it gave her.

At the top of the stairs, George stepped back and gave Hermione an up-front position at the railing. She took the end of the Extendable Ear in her hand and motioned George and Ron closer. The three huddled, heads together, and listened silently.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," Harry had begun, faltering, "erm, you know -"

"Harry, please, it's Mum and Dad to you," Molly interrupted fondly.

"Yes, well," Harry started again. "You know that Sirius left Grimmauld Place to me." There was silence, and the three eavesdroppers assumed there was a nod of acknowledgment to this fact.

"Well, I've been thinking that it's time for me to make it my home." Harry's words were coming faster now. "And you also know how much I love your daughter - " He was interrupted again, this time by Ginny.

"How much _we_ love _each_ _other_ ," the youngest Weasley corrected him.

"What are you two trying to say?" Arthur cut in this time, a hint of apprehension and suspicion in his voice.

Hermione leaned in closer to hear the big reveal, almost losing her balance and falling over the bannister. George grabbed her waist with one hand and pulled her up, her back against his front.

"Oh!" she squealed, immediately trying to quiet herself. Her heart was pounding a million miles a minute as she was squeezed against George, and she became acutely aware of his hands wrapped protectively around her slim middle.

"Cor, Hermione, be careful!" he cautioned her, his own breath a bit short as he too felt their closeness. He blinked fast as if desperately aware of the feel of her body against his. They returned to listening, but George kept his arm circled around her.

Ron, who had taken a step back when Hermione stumbled, witnessed the event silently. He wasn't known for his emotional depth so he missed some of the cues, but his brother holding his sort-of ex-girlfriend possessively did not go unnoticed. The fact that the independent witch allowed it even after the danger had passed did not go unnoticed either. He stepped back into the range of the listening device, however, saying nothing.

"So, what do you think?" Ginny was asking. "Since we plan to live together at some point, can I move in now? I mean, I'm going to spend most of my time over there anyway, so it just makes sense." They had missed Harry asking permission to move in with their daughter, and both Hermione and George cursed quietly at the realization, but then they held their breaths, as no doubt Harry and Ginny did too, awaiting the response.

Molly's response was controlled but angry. "Ginevra Weasley, we raised you better than this! You want to live with a man before you are married? Are you out of your mind? What in Merlin's great beard makes you think we would ever permit this? And Harry," she clearly had turned toward him, based on the increased volume in the Extendable Ear, "how dare you disrespect us this way! We may not be your actual parents, but you have lived under our roof and abided by our rules for years! And this is the thanks we get? You want to take our little girl and, and…" Her voice became an unintelligible wailing.

"Now, Molly," Arthur cleared his throat, and the trio on the stairs envisioned him holding his wife's shoulders soothingly. "I don't think either of these two young people wish to disrespect us," he assured her, though his voice turned more paternal and protective with his next words. "However, they both know that we believe in conservative values when it comes to romantic relationships, and if they are asking us to live together, I'm certain they have more news to share? Say, an engagement to announce?" Mr. Weasley was clearly giving the lovebirds an easy out, but since they weren't engaged and hadn't planned on becoming engaged anytime soon, neither took the bait. In fact, Ginny's ire got the better of her, and from the sounds of it, she pushed her chair back angrily, standing up fast.

"Engagement?" she cried out. "Sorry to disappoint, but I will not become engaged just to appease your old-fashioned way of thinking! Yes, we may choose to spend our lives together, but these are not the Dark Ages! We are a modern young couple and we want to live together! So whether you like it or not, we're going to!" And with that she stormed out of the Burrow and into the garden.

"Sorry," Harry stammered. "Uh, if you'll excuse me." He too left the table. The only sounds now were muffled sobs and a few hushed "There there's."

"Well, that went well," Ron muttered sarcastically, standing up fully and stretching his back, which was stiff after being hunched over for the last few minutes.

"I'd better go check on Ginny," Hermione started, but George's arm stopped her and he turned her so that her body was flush against his, causing a deep blush to flood the witch's face.

"No, you can't," he insisted. "If you do, we're busted!" His blue eyes widened, probably imagining the bat bogey hex that Ginny was known for being aimed at him.

Hermione frowned at him and stepped back, conceding reluctantly. It was against the bossy witch's nature not to check on her friend and provide her comfort, but she realized the need to protect the eavesdroppers' actions. It surprised her to side with George and not otherwise involve herself, but she certainly did not want to get caught in the act.

"You're right, of course," she said. "I'll let Harry sort it out. But I have a feeling that conversation's not over."

"Yeah, no way Mum's going to let her get away with talking to her like that. If that was me, she would've hexed my bits by now!" Ron exclaimed. He started back down the stairs while George pulled up the other end of the Ear.

"I better get back to the Ministry," Ron said. "They've got us getting up at 5:00 every day. If I don't get some sleep, I'll be knackered in the morning." Hermione followed him down the stairs, and when they reached the bottom, they embraced in a friendly hug before she headed into the living room and Ron moved into the kitchen.

"Mum! Dad! I'm going," he called. There was a flurry of goodbyes followed by the telltale whooshing sound of the floo.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 - September 1999**

Throughout the course of the next month, Ginny continued to badger her parents with requests to move in with Harry, who had relocated Grimmauld Place permanently as soon as he could after the disastrous conversation. Ginny spent every waking hour there, and the two worked hard to renovate and redecorate. Often, Hermione, George, and even Bill would join them, helping remove the curses from the structure and its furnishings. Surprisingly, Kreacher the house elf was of tremendous aid (and actually cooperated with Harry but no one else) because he knew the history behind many of the Dark objects, which gave Hermione a starting place to research breaking the curses. Once she had the theoretical understanding, she could work with Bill to determine the best way to destroy them.

"Excellent work, Hermione, really brilliant," Bill complimented her one evening, as the group sat in the newly decorated and curse-free dining room eating take-away. "Have you ever considered becoming a curse-breaker? Gringotts could use your talents."

Hermione's cheeks reddened with pleasure. "Thanks, Bill, but I'm not sure what I want to do as a career. I don't think I want to surround myself with Dark magic, though, after everything we've been through." She and Harry exchanged knowing looks, and Bill nodded compassionately. George shuddered slightly, remembering the scars he glimpsed on Hermione's arm and imagining the horrors she had experienced at the hands of Death Eaters. He stretched his arm across the back of her chair and rubbed her back lightly.

"Right you are," Bill said. "I can only imagine some of the twisted things you've encountered over the years. Just know you're certainly qualified if you ever want to try it out, but then, you're probably qualified to do just about anything." The blush deepened on her cheeks, and she thanked him for the endorsement.

"Now, now," George admonished in a joking tone, "Let's not give Hermione a bigger head than she already has. Her hair won't even fit in this room if you keep complimenting her." His eyes twinkled with humor as he smiled at his friend to lighten up the moment. Hermione rolled her eyes in response to yet another ages-old joke about her crazy curls.

"I know one job 'Mione's not qualified for, and that's playing on a professional Quidditch team. I, on the other hand, have been invited to try out for the Holyhead Harpies next week!" Ginny was practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

"Gin, that's terrific news!" Hermione leapt up and ran around the table to hug her friend. Harry smiled proudly beside her.

"Thanks! I'm really thrilled to get the chance, but I could use some pointers and practice. Do you think we could get in a game after dinner on Sunday?"

Bill smiled. "Are you kidding?! All of your brothers will be lined up to help! Except maybe Percy; he can watch and lecture you on the Ministry's viewpoint on broomstick lengths." He winked and they all had a good laugh.

"What about you, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Me? Of course I'll be helping Ginny prepare!"

"No, that's not what I meant. I meant have you decided what career you're going for?"

Harry looked serious for a moment, and then he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"I know it's been awhile since the war and all, but it's still hard for me to imagine getting a 'regular' job and going to the office everyday." He looked perplexed, and Hermione nodded.

"Yes," she replied. "It does. It's not that you want to feel threatened everyday, but a desk job suddenly doesn't seem fulfilling. I think that's why it's taken me so long to even consider a profession, though it's probably time to get serious."

The two friends continued to discuss job prospects in the face of being two-thirds of the Golden Trio, and Ginny escorted Bill and George to the fireplace in the kitchen to floo to Shell Cottage and George's flat above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"I never thought of what their lives are like now, other than to assume they are appreciating that no one's actively trying to kill them," Bill confessed.

"I wouldn't have either except for the fact that I share a bedroom with Hermione and I hear her crying out from nightmares even now sometimes. Not to mention Harry pulling his wand out every time the house creaks in a strong wind. He can't get over feeling like someone's out to get him." Ginny shared her experiences, and the siblings agreed to think of ways to help their friends recover from their traumas. She hugged her brothers as they took their leave.

Harry came into the kitchen, and Hermione and Ginny prepared to head to the Burrow a few minutes later.

"It's ridiculous, my leaving, when I'll just be back first thing tomorrow," the red-haired girl complained.

"Well, the next time you go to talk to your parents about it, maybe you should stay calm and not storm out suddenly," Hermione suggested. Only after the sentence ended did she realize what she had just done.

"How would you know I got up and left? I never told you what happened!" Ginny looked furious for a moment and then a look of understanding crossed her face. "Were you spying on us? You were, weren't you?"

"What? Spying? No! Maybe…maybe we were listening a little." Hermione's protest cut off awkwardly.

" _We_?! Who else - oh, I'll kill him!" And with that, Ginny jumped into the fireplace and shouted "93 Diagon Alley!" and disappeared.

Harry looked at at Hermione and began to laugh when he saw the scared look on his best friend's face. He pulled her into a friendly hug and said, "You'd better go after her. She's likely to use an Unforgivable on George. And don't worry about me - I'm not the one who tosses hexes around like they're nothing." He smirked, thinking about his girlfriend's quick temper, and stepped back as Hermione looked at him gratefully and flooed away.

 **~oOo~**

"George! Ginny?" Hermione stumbled into the flat, nervous at what she might find.

"HOW COULD YOU? I ought to -"

BANG!

"Ow! Ginny, give me a minute, alright? Bloody hell that hurt -"

BANG!

"Eavesdropping, really? Why would you do that to me?" The tone of Ginny's voice shifted from furious to hurt as Hermione rounded the corner into the living room. Ginny stood in the middle of the floor, wand pointing directly at George's head, the coffee table and couch upended behind him.

"Ginny, please," Hermione approached her friend carefully and tried to soothe her. "We're sorry. We were just curious to know how your parents would react to you guys asking to move in together. It was, it was selfish and thoughtless, really." She sighed contritely, and Ginny's dark eyes flashed over to Hermione, taking in her sincere apology.

Resignedly, the redheaded witch lowered her wand and hugged her bushy-haired friend.

"Okay," she sniffled. "But now you both owe me."

"Anything," George agreed. "How about a month of Daydream Charms?" He put his hands up in protest. "Though, I don't want to know what you dream about, okay?"

"You think you're going to get off foisting products on me? Not what I had in mind, brother, not at all. I want you two to help me and Harry convince Mum and Dad to let us live together."

Silence, three different types, filled the room. First, there was Ginny, holding her breath in hope that they would help. Then there was Hermione, already working out logical arguments to defend the lovebirds living together. And finally, there was George, considering what it would mean if his baby sister really did move in with her boyfriend. He shook his head at some of the less desirable images and looked toward Hermione for her decision.

"I'm in," Hermione responded. "It's the least I can do." She glared at George to acquiesce.

George swallowed and nodded. "Me too."

"Great!" Ginny threw her arms around the two of them in an awkward three-way hug. "With the two of you helping, there's no way they'll say no!"

Abruptly, she ran to the fireplace and flooed back to Grimmauld Place, most likely to give Harry the news.

Hermione stood awkwardly in the middle of George's living room and scanned her unfamiliar surroundings.

"So, this is your flat," she stated the obvious.

"Uh, yeah, this is it," George also looked around, seeing the place through her eyes and realizing what a sight it was. Dust covered every surface, product boxes were stacked almost ceiling-high in the corners. Take-away cartons sat, stinking, on the small kitchen table and countertops, and dishes filled the sink.

George peeked guiltily at Hermione and shrugged. "It's not much, but it's home."

"Is it?" she asked, puzzled but trying to hold back judgment. "It doesn't seem like you do much living here." She took note of the walls, which once had pictures hung on them, based on the nails still poking out here and there, but which were now bare.

The tall wizard sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"It's a lot, okay?" George grew defensive. "I work all day at the joke shop we started together and then come up here at night to the flat we shared. So, mostly I don't do it. Until recently, I'd go to the Burrow, or I'd find somewhere else to sleep…" His voice faded away as his cheeks flushed, determined not to finish that thought.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably when she considered the implications of what he was saying. _Of course,_ she realized, _he'd find a random witch to go home with..._ She didn't want to finish that thought either. She had heard rumors to that extent, but she cared too much to pursue the truth.

"But that was a while ago now," George explained hastily. "I've been sleeping here for months. Alone. All alone." His entire head was as red as his hair at this point, and he wondered why he felt the need to explain himself to her.

"Well, it certainly could use a little cleanup, and maybe some decor to make it feel more homey," Hermione ordered, and she waved her hand around the small living room, magicking his couch and coffee table upright.

George stared in awe. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" she asked.

"That - without a wand and without words."

"Honestly, George, didn't you pay any attention in school? Nonverbal spells were a key component of sixth year's curriculum," Hermione scolded, sounding very much like she wa back at Hogwarts and catching the twins skiving off their lessons.

"Sorry, 'Mione, but me and Fred had better things to do by then, and I never really got the hang of nonverbal magic. I can only manage a few of the basics." His eyes glinted in response to her scolding, as the two fell into the banter with which they were both familiar and comfortable.

"But where's your wand? I'm pretty sure wandless spells were not a part of Hogwarts' approved lessons." He had her there.

Hermione blushed again and shrugged humbly. She pulled her wand out of her sleeve to show him she still carried it. "I did a lot of studying of advanced magic over the years," she acknowledged softly, "and I picked up a few skills that were very useful and convenient for when we were on the run."

"More than a few," he said in wonder. "Bloody brilliant magic, that is! Not many wizards can do wandless magic. You're amazing!" He hugged her to him, and she smiled into his chest. He pulled her back to arm's length.

"Teach me?" he asked her, his voice husky, vulnerable.

"What?"

"Teach me," he repeated, this time as a command more than a request. "I could really benefit from some lessons, and you're the best person I know to help me improve my skills. I, I can't seem to do any magic stronger than I could when Fred was alive. No matter how I try, I can only perform the same charms, conjure the same spells, and complete the same potions. But when you helped me on that new idea, well, it got me thinking. With you as my partner, I think I could really take the store to new heights. What do you say?" He looked optimistically at the small witch before him, who began chewing on her bottom lip in thought.

"Do you really want me to work with you?" She considered his proposal.

"It's no Ministry position," he apologized, "but, yeah." At that, the witch smirked derisively.

This silence was filled with apprehension on both sides.

"I, I think I'd like that," Hermione said finally.

George's eyes lit up. "Really? You're not just pulling one over on me?" He spun her around excitedly.

Hermione threw her head back and laughed as the strong wizard placed her back on her feet and grinned at her. "I'm not the one who pranks, George," she reminded him. "In fact, I don't know if you'll really want me as a 'partner' once you've learned all the magic you can from me. I don't see myself being good at inventing."

"Just teach me your ways, oh wise one, and I'll do the same for you," he winked mischievously.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 - October 1999**

A few weeks later, Hermione was sitting on a wooden stool that, in spite of the cushioning charm she had applied, grew harder every second it seemed, behind the register at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, sporting the ridiculously lurid magenta robes that were the required uniform, and calculating the latest payroll figures. It had turned out that George's business needed a little more than an extra magical push from the smart witch; he had fallen behind with his finances, and as a result, there were some angry suppliers awaiting payment. In no time, however, Hermione had rectified the money problem, balanced the shop's ledger, and WWW was back in the black.

The creation of new products, though, was taking a bit longer, as most of Hermione's first days of work had involved getting the lay of the land and fixing the more immediate problems. But now that things were settled, she spent about half of her shift giving George private lessons in the back room and the other half manning the counter so that he and Verity, the shop's other employee, could develop inventory and restock shelves.

While it wasn't what she ever thought she would be doing, Hermione had to admit she kind of liked her new normal. For a while after becoming friends with George, she would privately chastise herself for skiving off her studies or chores, or for being distracted when she ought to be out seeking a job. But when she was caught up in the moment with him…

Well, that was just it. Being with George meant constantly being caught up in the moment. He was well known for being spontaneous and funny, and those sides of him were showing through more and more these days. And, unexpectedly, Hermione seemed a complement to him; her organised, dependable, structured manner brought him down to earth when necessary. She smiled at the thought of their unlikely friendship.

 _Who would have thought I'd actually like working here?_ she pondered. _Certainly not me. But how to tell him what I need to say?_

Hermione had a problem on her hands, in light of this wonderful new friendship and employment. She just didn't see herself working in a joke shop as a permanent career. Not that she looked down upon George's profession; after all, he owned the most successful shop in Diagon Alley, and his and Fred's inventions had always been ingenious. She had read through his their notebook of product ideas and development in one night and the next day had embarrassed him with praise for the depth of complex magic they involved. She had also suggested a few improvements and concepts herself, and for several weeks now they had been quite an unstoppable inventing force.

Yet, no matter how happy Hermione was to help George out of his funk, and no matter how much she enjoyed the challenges that came with inventing, the multi-talented witch pictured herself doing something a little more...purposeful. Granted, George and Fred together, and now George alone, brought light and laughter into the lives of witches and wizards daily, and she saw firsthand how much of an impact his products had on the people who bought them. But this shop wasn't _hers_ , these jokes weren't _her_ doing, and Hermione was a take-charge kind of witch - always had been - and therefore she was hungry to make her own statement and leave her own mark on the world.

For years, she had been known as Harry Potter's smart muggleborn friend; not that she'd ever felt jealous of his fame. Fame was not what Hermione was seeking. Having an effect on society was. It was what her S.P.E.W. days had been all about; it was why she suggested Harry start Dumbledore's Army; it was what she felt she was missing now, in spite of the secure status of her current life. So she knew that her time at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was limited, and she also knew that the sooner she told its creator, the better. She didn't like holding back from him, and he seemed to really enjoy working with her. She would feel bad if she suddenly discovered her true calling and left with little notice. No, telling him was absolutely necessary, she knew.

On this particularly quiet Thursday afternoon, Hermione tired of the hard wooden stool more quickly than usual and tired of charming it only to have to re-charm it half an hour later. Thus, she was standing, legs spread, bent over, leaning her elbows on top of the counter, her long curls hiding her face from view as she reviewed her calculations on the ledger. She was in this position, lost in thought, when a deep voice rang out from the door.

"Oi, Weasley! I'm here to collect on that bet!" the voice called, and a pair of feet half-shuffled, half-jogged through the aisles, seeking the proprietor. The owner of the voice and feet skidded to a stop when he reached the counter and realized the pretty witch at the counter wasn't the wizard he was looking for.

"You're not George," the handsome, dark-haired young man stated, surprised. His green eyes skimmed Hermione from top to counter, and suddenly, a huge grin plastered his face. "Hermione!"

She blushed and made only marginal eye contact, her usual response to wizards recognizing her, having never gotten used to the trappings of fame that came with being one-third of the trio that saved the wizarding world. "Yes, that's me," she said softly.

"Hermione! It's me, Seamus! Don't you know your old friend?" She snapped her head up and immediately saw what she hadn't looked for initially: friendly smile, laughter in the eyes, short dark hair that looked slightly singed, as if he were still best at blowing things up. After not seeing him for over a year, Hermione was impressed by Seamus's broad build and increased height. She laughed in surprise and came around to the front of the counter to greet her friend properly.

"Oh Merlin, Seamus, how are you?" She was shocked by the intimacy of his embrace, but she didn't mind it as he hugged her tightly.

"I'm great!" he answered enthusiastically, releasing her but hanging onto one of her hands gently. "Me mam and dad moved to America after the war, so I'm living here alone, well, not completely alone; I share a flat with Dean -"

"Thomas? Oh wow, I haven't seen him in ages either! Is he doing well too?" she interrupted eagerly.

"Yeah, we're both good. He's training to be a Healer, and I'm studying as an Apprentice. I think I want to teach." He looked a little embarrassed, but Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand supportively.

"That's really wonderful, Seamus. Teaching is a noble profession. But, it's not potions you're studying is it?" Her chestnut-colored eyes lit up with humor, surprising the Irishman, who instantly liked what he saw.

"Ha ha, no, it's not!" he chuckled. "I'm working on a Mastery in Transfiguration. I'm actually an Animagus meself," he confessed quietly.

Hermione was awestruck by the revelation. "You are?"

He nodded proudly. "Yeah, I dedicated myself to learning to transform during sixth year. Professor McGonagall helped me. My form - it's a hare. It came in really handy when the Carrows were in charge seventh year," he told her. "I didn't register until after the final battle. No one else besides Professor McGonagall and Dean knew how inside information was getting communicated outside of Hogwarts. I could hop right past the Death Eaters' feet. 'Course, a few of them tried to hex me or kick me at times…" He shook his head at the memory. "It's how I got this."

He turned his head to the left, and Hermione could see a sizable dent in his skull. She gasped, but he just shrugged.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he said bravely. "I used to get awful headaches, but they're pretty much done now."

Hermione stood in stunned silence. Another scarred wizard, another casualty of the war. Her eyes were wet the next time she looked into his.

"Oh, Seamus," she whispered, trembling slightly. She reached out and hugged him again, thinking of what he must have been through.

"Hey now," he said softly, patting her back, "I'm fine, and it's great to see you!" He stepped back and Hermione smoothed her hair back and adjusted her robes.

"Yes, I'm sorry, of course," she said distractedly. "Did I hear you mention you had a bet to collect on?"

"That I do," Seamus replied, smiling devilishly. "Is the boss here? I mean, I take it you work here?"

"I do, and he is," Hermione answered. The wizard raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised that the most intelligent witch in Britain was working at a joke shop. She read his expression and stated, "It's a long explanation, I won't bore you with the details."

"Oh, I would imagine the details of how George Weasley managed to convince Hermione Granger to work for him are anything but boring," the Irishman teased. "Why don't you tell me all about it over dinner? Say, tomorrow night?"

At that moment, George pulled open the door to the workshop and sauntered over, happy to see his good friend. Upon hearing what came out of Hermione's mouth next, his movements slowed and his pulse quickened.

"Dinner tomorrow? I'd love to, Seamus! We have loads to catch up on!"

George heard an eagerness in Hermione's voice that he hadn't heard before. He cleared his mind and forced his face to return to an affable smile.

"Finnigan, mate," he clapped his friend on the back. "Here to rob me?"

"Hardly, Weasley," Seamus retorted. "I won fair and square, or should I say Puddlemere won on my behalf?"

"Yes, I suppose if I should hex anyone, it ought to be Wood."

The two men started bantering about their favorite Quidditch teams and George handed some galleons over to Seamus reluctantly but good-naturedly.

Hermione shook her head and went back around the counter, silently casting yet another cushioning charm before taking her seat. George saw her slight wave of the hand and sniggered.

"What?" She looked nonplussed.

"How many times have you charmed that stool today?" George asked, the look on his face suggesting a trick either had been played or was about to be played.

"Only about ten," she complained. "About twice an hour I have to get up because it's just too hard, no matter what I try!"

George was laughing silently, a tear running out of the corner of his eye. Seamus, more confused than Hermione, just watched the interaction with interest.

"Oh gods, I'd forgotten about that!" George howled. He wiped his eyes and looked at Hermione with a combination of sincerity and hilarity on his face. "When we first opened, Fred worried that our employees might get complacent and remain behind the counter instead of helping the customers on the floor, so he cursed the stool to harden over the course of the day." He shook his head at the memory.

"After he - " the usual pause, only this one included a glance at Seamus, whose eyes hit the ground instantly, "well, I guess I never remembered what he'd done! I'm sorry, Granger," he tried to sound contrite even though he was still chuckling. "Do you know a countercurse for something like that?"

The impressed witch's cheeks widened into a smile at the story George shared. It was wonderful to hear him laugh at something Fred had done, when just a few months ago he had struggled to even say his twin's name.

"I think I can figure one out," she replied, and she stood back up and looked down at the offending piece of wood, concentration etched across her face. She slid onto the stool to test it out and sighed with relief. "That's more like it," she said, satisfied.

"That's Hermione for you," George beamed, "solving the world's problems one chair at a time!"

Hermione snorted, a little affronted at the suggestion that her skills were only good for small problems. She remembered the discussion she wished to have with George about her future endeavors and vowed to have it sooner than later. In the meantime, she shoved his shoulder, and he poked her side, and a moment later, the two were embroiled in a tickling/hitting fight that Seamus just stood in wonder and watched. It took Verity firing a stinging hex at George's backside to separate them and bring them back to reality.

Hermione apologized to their audience, though she was still breathlessly giggling. She straightened her clothes and smoothed her hair down, trying to regain her composure.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow? Can I pick you up after work? I just realized, I don't even know where you live." Seamus brought Hermione back to the present.

"Oh, yes, tomorrow! That's fine - you can actually just pick me up here, if you don't mind. I live at the Burrow, but if you floo there I'm afraid Mrs. Weasley will never let us leave!"

Seamus shook his head and laughed. "I reckon you're right about that, eh George? It sounds like some things don't change!" And he bade the two goodbye, leaving the shop a little richer and a little happier than when he entered.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 - October 1999**

The next day, Hermione headed upstairs into George's flat at exactly 5:00 to prepare for dinner with Seamus. She was pleased to see that George had taken her advice to heart, as the apartment was definitely tidier and fresher than when she first visited. She could see the effort the redhead had put into making it more homey. In fact, she noted, he had even hung a picture back on the wall. She paused on her way to the loo and saw the image of George, herself, and Verity smiling and waving from the front of the shop on her first day at work. She smiled broadly, knowing what a big step it was for him to put new moments of happiness on display.

Hermione quickly showered and then performed the usual glamour charms to cover her scars, smooth her hair into controlled curls, and apply a neutral palette of makeup to her eyes, cheeks, and lips. She dressed in muggle jeans and a flowy, emerald top that she chose specifically thinking about Seamus's eyes. She knew he was just being friendly by asking her to have dinner with him, but still… Her lack of lovelife made her hungry for any excuse to dress up and feel attractive, and Seamus had definitely made her feel that way yesterday, even though she was sure he didn't have any designs on her.

George took the steps two at a time and entered the apartment about thirty minutes after Hermione. He heard her humming to herself in the bathroom, and he smiled as he grabbed two butterbeers out of the fridge. He liked a happy Hermione, and he though he didn't know the details, the witch had certainly suffered through plenty of reasons not to be happy. He guzzled from one bottle, headed into the living room, and flopped onto the couch just as Hermione came walking down the hallway. Suddenly, he inhaled sharply and started choking, amazed by her subtle sexiness. In his awe, he continued to choke, distractedly dumping the rest of his butterbeer into his lap. He leaned over and put the full butterbeer that he had been intending for her on the table as Hermione rushed over to him and pounded him on the back.

"George!" she exclaimed. "Are you alright?"

He sputtered, gasping for breath, and finally stopped coughing.

"Yeah, yeah, um, I'm fine. It's just the butterbeer, it went down the wrong pipe." He sat straight up, feeling awkward and uncomfortable that her hand was still on his back, rubbing soothingly.

"Next time, try drinking it instead of inhaling it, yeah?" she joked sarcastically.

"Ha ha, Granger, right," he retorted, leaning back into her one-handed backrub. She sat deeper into the couch at his action and scooted closer, putting both hands on his back and rubbing in earnest. George closed his eyes and allowed her ministrations to calm him, thoroughly enjoying her touch. Too soon, however, he heard a faint "pop" sound of apparition, and his pleasure ended as the pretty witch beside him jumped up in anticipation.

"Oh! That's Seamus! He's early!" she said excitedly. "Do I look alright? I mean," she blushed furiously and covered her cheeks with her hands, "he's just a friend, but still, I never go anywhere, so uh…"

"Hermione, you look great," George reassured her, his eyes lingering on her body a little longer than a friend's should. She didn't notice, however; she probably didn't even hear his response, because she was heading to the door as fast as she could while trying to appear calm and collected.

George sighed and called out, "Have a good time," as she disappeared down the stairs.

~oOo~

"Hello, Seamus," she said shyly as she entered the shop. For the second time in as many minutes, a man's eyes roved over her body, appreciating the witch's appearance.

"Hermione, it's great to see you again so soon," Seamus replied, and he leaned over and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

The nervous young woman giggled a little and then stopped herself, inwardly scolding herself for sounding fourteen and asked her companion where they were headed.

"Well, I figure it might be better for us to go to Muggle London where you won't be recognized, if that's alright?" he proposed.

Hermione squeezed his arm in appreciation for thinking about her needs, noting how muscular his bicep was. "Yes, it would be easier for us to have an uninterrupted dinner," she replied. "Thanks for that."

Seamus beamed down at her and put his and over hers, and they apparated away.

Hermione and Seamus sat on the floor of a Japanese restaurant, comfortably eating sushi with chopsticks and sharing stories of the last year and a half of their lives. The Muggle-born was impressed to see how adept the Irishman was at wielding the awkward utensils, and he explained that his Muggle father had insisted on exposing him to Muggle cuisine and customs.

"Wow, that's really progressive of him," Hermione said thoughtfully, sipping her wine and gazing into Seamus's green eyes for a moment.

Seamus returned the gaze, smiled, and replied, "When I first got my Hogwarts letter, me mam was afraid I'd get a big head about being a wizard. See, I have a cousin who is a Squib, and some wizards and witches give her an awful time. So my parents made sure to teach me a lot about the Muggle world to keep me humble."

Hermione was thrilled to hear about his supportive upbringing. She smiled coyly as he paused to take a drink of his beer, and the rest of the night flowed smoothly around them as they talked, laughed, and ate, each stealing glances at the other.

At the end of the night, the waiter brought the bill and Hermione reached into her bag for some money. Seamus pulled the bill over to him and immediately took out enough Muggle money to pay the entire thing plus tip, but Hermione protested.

"You don't have to do that," she argued, embarrassed. "Really, George pays me enough to cover my share." She attempted a joke to lighten the mood.

Seamus shook his head and refused. "Blimey, what kind of blokes have you been dating that they let you pay?"

 _Dating?_ she said to herself, surprised. _Did he just call me his date?_

She felt herself flush as she thanked him for his generosity. They stood up and left the restaurant, stepping out into the cool city air. Again, he shook his head in bewilderment.

"Will you answer my question?" he prompted her. "Who's been taking you out and then making you pay?" His emerald eyes penetrated her dark brown ones.

"Oh, well, uh," Hermione stammered. "I don't exactly go on dates." She looked down at her feet.

Seamus stopped in his tracks. "What?" he asked incredulously. "A beautiful witch like you doesn't date?"

Hermione could hardly stand on her own now. _Beautiful? Is he kidding?_

She looked up at his face to gauge his expression, and at the same moment he brought his hand under her chin and pressed his lips against hers. Startled but pleased, Hermione's eyes flew shut and she responded to his kiss, pressing closer into him. His hands moved into her hair, and a few seconds later he pulled away, slightly breathless and trying to compose himself.

"I shouldn't have done that," he whispered in apology. Delight vanished from her face as she saw the regret in his.

"Oh, well..." She was awash in humiliation that he had not enjoyed kissing her. Sure, she was out of practice and relatively inexperienced, but still, she thought it had been a pretty good kiss.

"No, no," Seamus cut her off, and he pulled her into his arms, looking down at her with, _was that desire?_ in his eyes. "What I meant was that I shouldn't have kissed you so soon. I don't want you to think I'm only after one thing." He searched her eyes for understanding.

Relief flooded over her, and she laughed shakily.

"Thank you, Seamus," she said, her voice sounding uncharacteristically husky. "But I didn't mind." She risked a look at his face.

A smile overtook his features, his eyes filling with happiness at her response. He leaned down and kissed her again, gently and quickly, and then he pulled back, took her hand in his, and said, "Fancy a walk by the river?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 - October 1999**

Within fifteen minutes of Hermione leaving, George heard a noise outside the door and rushed to open it, assuming the witch had forgotten something or that Seamus turned out to be a prat. Instead, Ron was standing there, just about to knock again, his fist aloft perfectly at the height of George's nose, and he knocked twice on his brother's face.

"Ow!" George rubbed his nose with one hand and yanked his brother's arm down with the other.

"Sorry, mate, didn't stop myself in time." Ron grinned and pushed past the annoyed wizard into the flat.

"Yeah, right. What are you doing here? Is everything okay with Auror training?" George followed him into the kitchen, where his younger brother was busy opening and closing cupboards. Though the pantry was well stocked, Ron didn't finish his question until he emerged with a bottle of Firewhiskey and two glasses.

"What are we celebrating?" George tried a different tack.

"What? Oh, well, not exactly celebrating, though I'm only one month away from my practical exams! But that's not why I'm here. I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something. Is Hermione here?" Ron paused a beat, but then moved to the kitchen table and poured them each a glass of Firewhiskey.

"No, she's out. What's up, little brother?" George sipped his drink, concerned when Ron downed his in one gulp.

"Well, I know that you've been spending a lot of time with her," Ron began.

George cut in. "We're friends, and coworkers, and..." he faded, thinking of how she looked in that outfit tonight. "That's all."

"Oh, well, I just, if there was something there, I'd, uh, I think I'd be okay with it," Ron admitted quietly.

"Nothing's there, so forget it," George replied firmly and quickly, but curiously. Ron looked at him, startled by his brusque response. Then he pressed on.

"But that's not why I'm here, not really," the nervous ginger said again. "The thing is, I'm okay if Hermione and you - well, if Hermione and anyone wanted to be together, because I've moved on."

George waited for Ron to catch his breath.

"See, I've been leaving early from dinner on Sundays lately because when I do get time off of training, I've been spending it with…with…"

"Spit it out already!" George shouted, impatient at last.

"Luna, alright? I'm seeing Luna!" Ron searched his brother's face for a reaction and saw pure surprise.

"Lovegood?" George started. "I mean, that's terrific, Ron. I hope she's making you happy."

Ron appeared relieved. "Yeah...yeah she is," he responded, and he zoned out for a moment, presumably thinking about the girl he was falling for.

"Earth to Ron," George waved his hand in front of Ron's face. The younger man snapped his head back with a goofy half-smile.

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly.

"Luna must really be something if she's got you staring off into space like a lovesick schoolgirl!" George teased. He finished his glass of Firewhiskey and got up to put the bottle away.

"You know, it's funny," Ron began, "most of what she says sounds barmy, but if you listen, really listen, to what she's saying, she's actually got some good ideas mixed in. And she's calm. I'd like someone to calm me down, you know? Instead of getting all wound up all the time, like me and 'Mione used to do to each other." His eyes clouded over as he remembered his brief, tumultuous relationship. "So anyway, not only did I want to tell you that we're seeing each other, but also, I want to bring her to Sunday dinner, and I wondered if you thought Hermione would be okay with it." He fiddled with his empty glass anxiously.

"Mate, I think it's fine," George reassured him. "In fact, it's probably more than fine, because she's out on a date right now." His automatic reaction to saying that sentence was to frown, but he instantly rearranged his mouth.

"Really? That's great!" Ron's tone was one of relief. His eyebrows furrowed. "Who with?"

"Finnigan," George answered. Again, a scowl, but he masked his expression to appear impassive as fast as he could.

"Seamus? Huh, didn't see that one coming," Ron muttered, considering this information. He studied George's face as he responded. "Well, if she's happy, then good for her. What a relief! I mean, I know we barely dated, but with our history, I didn't want to upset her."

"If you still want it, my advice is to wait a week before bringing Luna to dinner because I predict tomorrow night's gonna be hectic as it is."

"Oh yeah? How come?" Ron looked interested as it was George's turn to explain.

"Let's just say 'Operation Harry & Ginny' is back on for tomorrow after dinner. Hermione tells me she's got some solid arguments to present to Mum and Dad. I don't know much, but I'm expected to be there and help out."

"Merlin, that ought to be interesting." Ron crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back, grimacing.

"'Interesting' is an understatement," George replied.

 **~oOo~**

Two hours later, Ron had left and George was pacing the length of his living room when he heard noises outside the door. He strode over to open it, but as his hand grasped the knob, he heard two voices. He paused, listening through the door to their goodbyes. Then there was a momentary silence and his grip on the knob constricted, and then another sound indicated that Seamus had disapparated and it was safe to open the door.

He pulled it open casually, as if he had just walked over to it, and found his pretty friend leaning on the wall of the hallway, two fingers touching her lips gently, her face glossed over in a dazed smile.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked, trying to sound friendly-yet-unmoved.

Hermione shook herself out of her daydream and back into the real world, realizing that George had spoken to her.

"What? Oh, yes, a good time, a very good time," she responded dreamily.

There was an odd pause as neither of them said anything.

"Well, I guess I'd better head to home. G'night George! I have tomorrow off, so I'll see you for Sunday dinner!" And with that, she was gone.

 **~oOo~**

Sunday dinner began in typical fashion, only this one promised to get more lively at its end. After agreeing to help Ginny and Harry, Hermione and George had each separately approached Mr. and Mrs. Weasley over the previous few days. Hermione had casually referenced other couples who lived together and ended up happily married, only to be contradicted quickly by Mrs. Weasley's insistence that those relationships were rushed and that eventually the couples would regret it. George had attempted an Acquiescence charm that was supposed to make the receiver agree with whatever was said, but he must have done it wrong because instead, Mr. Weasley disagreed with his own wife for over an hour, causing a huge row over the proper way to fold a fitted bed sheet.

In the meantime, Ginny had been selected as a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Now she was gone to training from sunup to sundown six days a week, which left her even less time to spend with Harry, and she was growing desperate to have her way. However, this development had also given Hermione an idea, and the logical side of her brain put together some very good reasons why the couple could easily share Grimmauld Place with little scandal. Thus it was this Sunday that she and George had agreed to approach his parents and see if they couldn't convince them through honest discourse. Hermione had planned the whole conversation, and she instructed Harry and Ginny to remain in the living room until they heard her say, "It's what's best for everyone," and then they were to enter the kitchen and maturely and _calmly_ (Hermione could not impress this upon Ginny enough) take up their own cause. The only person she had failed to thoroughly review her plan with was George, but she assumed that he would follow her lead.

After dinner was cleared and Bill and Fleur, whose belly was just starting to show signs of growing life, had headed back to Shell Cottage, and Ron and Percy settle into a game of wizard's chess, Hermione asked Molly and Arthur to join her and George at the table and brought tea to them all.

"We have something we'd like to discuss with you," Hermione said formally, bracing herself for a debate.

Molly clutched her husband's hand in hers and tears filled her eyes. "I knew it!" she exclaimed. "I just knew you two were going to start dating! Everyone could see it was only a matter of time; wasn't I right, Arthur?"

George and Hermione froze at once, matching expressions of shock on their faces. Arthur, reading the room correctly, hushed his wife.

"Molly, I don't quite think that's what is happening here."

Mrs. Weasley halted her praises long enough to recognize their looks of dismay and immediately calmed herself down.

"Oh my, so sorry then," she muttered apologetically, blushing to the roots of her hair. "What was it you wanted to say?"

"Just this, Mum," George recovered faster than Hermione, so he spoke first. Hermione panicked because she had absolutely no idea what he was about to say. "You see, now that Hermione's working at the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes full-time, it makes sense for her to be closer for when I need extra help. She's really become essential, and I'd like for her to move into the flat above the shop with me." He raced through the last part so fast that Hermione was sure she hadn't heard him right.

Silence filled the room. It was so stifling Hermione to the point that she felt as if she couldn't breathe. Three out of the four people present had most certainly not been expecting George to say what he had, and they froze as he cleared his throat and began again.

"We're just friends, Mum. It's really a matter of convenience. To tell the truth, I haven't been in Fred's room in about a year, and it's in need of a good sorting. If Hermione were to move in, she could sleep in there. And then you won't have to worry about me living alone - don't pretend it doesn't bother you. It's really the best thing for everyone involved," he finished reasonably.

Ginny, hearing a version of their cue, grasped Harry by the wrist and marched eagerly into the room.

"So?" she asked brightly. "What do you think? Is it a go?"

Hermione gave her head an imperceptible shake, but the youngest Weasley was practically dancing with excitement, confident that Hermione and George had successfully gotten her what she wanted.

Arthur spoke first. "It seems to me to make a lot of sense, given that he has enough room for her, and it would be a more convenient commute. It might be nice for him not to live alone." He looked at Molly who was considering this plan thoughtfully.

"Yes, I do like the idea of him not living alone," she agreed slowly. "I can see how this does make things easier, and if they are only friends, then we have nothing to worry about. "

Ginny's dark eyes flashed menacingly between her parents. "ONLY FRIENDS? SINCE WHEN? The first time we ask if we can live together, you tell us you expect us to be engaged, and now you think we're only friends? You two are driving me mad!" And again she stormed out, and again Harry mumbled perplexed apologies and followed her.

This time, the silence didn't last long. It was Hermione who startled giggling first, followed by Arthur's guffaw, and finally Molly and George joined in, all four of them shaking their heads and howling at the very bizarre scene that had just taken place.

After a few minutes, when the laughter died down, Hermione wiped her eyes one last time and took a serious tone.

"About that," she said cautiously, not wanting to destroy whatever shred of trust and goodwill she and George had cultivated with his parents. "Ginny's season is about to begin, and that means she'll be on the road for the next two months. When she does come home, she'll be wanting to spend every waking minute with Harry, I would imagine. Plus it will be Christmas time, and I have a strong feeling an engagement won't be far off. Would it be so bad if she moved her belongings to Grimmauld Place now? They could keep separate sleeping quarters, and you could insist the floo be left open between here and there so that you can check in on them whenever you'd like." Hermione's points were clear and concise. George looked at her admirably and patted her knee under the table, his only way to communicate what a great job she had done. But when Hermione felt his touch, she slid her legs out of his reach, not forgetting how he had just set her up.

Molly and Arthur had a silent conversation with their eyes.

"Thank you, Hermione. You are kind for coming to your friends' assistance, even though this really isn't your business," Molly answered stiffly. "I think Arthur and I need to consider what you've said and have a private discussion. Will you please excuse us?"

"Of course! And, I'm sorry if I was impertinent, it's just that I do love Harry and Ginny very much and they deserve to be happy." Hermione gushed apology after apology, practically bowing before the Weasleys, while George pulled her out the door to the apparition point and they apparated to his - soon to be _their_ \- apartment.

 **~oOo~**

Arriving at George's, it took only a moment for Hermione to remember that she was furious with him for proposing they live together.

"What the bloody hell was that?" she screamed at him, punching him in the arm. "We're going to live together now? You didn't even talk to me about it! How dare you choose where I will live! Don't you ever assume you know what's best for me! I make my own decisions!" She was angrier than he had ever seen her, and he backed away from her clenched fists, reaching for his wand should she start firing at him..

Luckily, Hermione wasn't the type to throw hexes around; she left that to Ginny. Instead, she ranted and raved, demanding an explanation for why she was put on the spot and left with no choice but to live above the shop, but providing no space in her diatribe for George to answer her.

Given that he wasn't allowed to defend himself, the redhead watched his sparring partner with deep interest. Hermione's brown eyes darkened, and they squinted a bit in her anger. There was a pink to her cheeks, and her lips pursed in between words. Her brow crinkled in upset, and her nostrils flared. Her hair appeared to spark as it whipped behind her while she stormed around the small living space. Her slim, strong frame marched back and forth, twisting at the waist to face him at times, her arms flailing some moments, akimbo others. Overall, angry Hermione was a lovely sight to behold.

When she finally paused to take a breath, he jumped in.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," George began, a sincere expression on his face. "I had been thinking about asking you if you wanted to live here for a while now, and it occurred to me as we were talking to Mum and Dad that maybe they needed to see that a man and woman could live together without it destroying society's moral fabric. I should have talked to you first, but to be fair, you hadn't discussed your plan with me, and I didn't know what else to say."

She studied him as he reasoned with her. His red hair was pulled into messy clumps because he'd been tugging on it as she ranted. She knew he did this when he was worried, having seen him pulling on it in the workshop when a potion failed its safety tests. His freckled cheeks had pale circles on them; it was his ear that was red, darkest at the tip. The stunning bright blue eyes that stood out normally against his freckled skin were more pronounced than ever, wide, unblinking, and honest. They were eyes a girl could get lost in, and when George stopped talking, Hermione hadn't stopped staring.

"Hermione? Did you even hear what I said?"

She blinked and shook her head, trying to pretend she was considering his response. Then she gave a little sigh of resignation.

"I know you meant well, and your idea does make sense, but still, how could you not ask me privately first? You know I don't like to be ordered around; I take ownership of my life, George, I make my own decisions. Can't you respect that?" She looked into his contrite blue eyes.

He nodded at her and took a few steps closer, feeling safer than when they first started arguing.

"I do know this about you, and I'm truly sorry. Hermione Granger, dearest dear witch, will you please do me the most honorable honor you could bestow and agree agreeably to move in with me?" He got down on one knee, and took her hand in his, his mouth smirking playfully.

Despite herself, she giggled and played along, drawing her other hand to her heart in mock joy and crying out, "George Weasley, yes! A thousand times yes! I would love to live with you! Oh, this is the happiest day of my life!" And the two friends laughed off the rest of the tension and headed into the kitchen to drink a toast to their new arrangements.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 - October 1999**

The morning after agreeing to move in with George, Hermione lay on her stomach on her bed at the Burrow, her face buried in her pillow. The severity of the previous night's decision was sinking in and giving the witch an overwhelming amount to consider.

 _How do I live with a boy? Do I really want to live with George? What would my parents think of this?_

These questions swirled through her brain over and over as she pondered her next move. While she had spent several months in a tent with two boys a year and a half ago, she knew for certain living in George's flat would be vastly different. Yes, she'd shared tight spaces with Ron and Harry, but sharing a home and workspace with a boy... _correction, man, I suppose_ , without the fear of imminent death or danger, she was certain would be even more intimate in some ways.

The organized witch had refused to leave the flat the evening their efforts to support Harry and Ginny had gone so ridiculously awry before making a list of supplies and sundry needed to facilitate the single wizard taking on a female roommate. Back at the Burrow, she spent that night and the next day cleaning out the room she'd shared over summers, holidays, and for the past year with Ginny.

Ginny. The thought of the ginger witch made Hermione shudder. Her dearest girlfriend had taken the mickey when she discovered Hermione was actually going to live with her brother.

"It's not that I don't support you moving out, 'Mione. After all, you can't possibly want to live with my parents forever. But, Merlin, living with George? How's that going to work? I mean, you're both so different!" Ginny mused.

Hermione wanted to be affronted, but that was true. She and George were diametric opposites in many ways. Hermione was buttoned-up, a planner, while George was spontaneous, a loose cannon.

 _And yet_ , Hermione mused, _we work well together. After all, they say opposites attract - well, maybe not attract, in this case - but still, I think we'll be fine._ A _nd my parents, well, they would think it quite sensible to live closer to my work_...at least, that's what she tried to convince herself. She reassured herself several times as move-in day neared.

George, on the other hand, barely even thought about the transition until the night before, when reality set in.

 _I'm going to live with a witch_ , he considered. _And not just any witch, but the swottiest witch in the world. We're going to kill each other!_

The mild panic attack deepened as he realized he had no idea how to interact with a roommate that wasn't his twin, whom he'd lived with from birth, or Lee Jordan, who had the pleasure of bunking with both Weasley twins in Gryffindor Tower for almost seven years.

 _What if she wants to bring a bloke home? Merlin, what if I want to bring home a bird?_ He shook the thoughts out of his head, cursing himself for even acknowledging the possibility those behaviors.

 _Stop. It's Hermione. She's an annoying swot. Well, she used to be. Now she's … she's...smart, and pretty, and helpful, and damn clever. Bollocks. This could be very bad..._

 **~oOo~**

Throughout that week, Hermione moved her belongings over to the apartment each night after work. Before she could fully move in, however, they would need to clean out the room she was to occupy, but seeing as that had been Fred's space, she was reluctant to force the situation. Thus, boxes and furniture cluttered the common living area as the week went on, making it harder and harder to function, until finally on Friday night, when George had locked up the shop, he entered his home and muttered in a frustrated tone, "Blimey, we have to clean this place up." Silently he realized that meant entering the hallowed space that was once Fred's room, and with that thought he poured himself some Firewhiskey and sat sullenly at the table, lost in memories.

Hermione came out of his bathroom a few minutes later, a short black dress hugging her slight curves, her hair pulled up halfway, stumbling as she tried to walk and put on a pair of heels at the same time. A red wrap lay over her arm and she held a clutch in one hand, and as she straightened up, George's jaw dropped at the picture before him.

"Have you heard Seamus arrive yet?" she asked breathlessly, walking to the door and opening it to look into the hall.

"What? No. Are you going out with him again?" The scowl that had become customary at the wizard's name crossed his face before he schooled his features.

"Yes, we made plans for tonight, and I was worried that I was running a little late. What do you think?" She twirled in front of him. "Do I look alright?"

"Fine, you look fine." George looked everywhere but at her. Internally, he scolded himself for becoming distracted by her.

"Oh, well, I guess 'fine' is good enough," Hermione said, sounding disappointed. She wrapped the red pashmina around her shoulders and looked earnestly at George once more. "Uh, George," she started nervously. "You can't, um, you can't see my scars too much, can you?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and he could sense her discomfort. This was the first time she had ever openly acknowledged the marks her long years of battle had left her with since the day he inadvertently saw them, and he knew deep down what a big risk she was taking.

George rose from his chair and crossed to her, taking his hands in his own and looking her arm up and down. Her glamour charm had worked well there, but the deep scar that jagged across her chest, acquired in the battle at the Department of Mysteries years ago, reached beyond the cut of the dress slightly.

"Even if they do show, you'd still look beautiful," he reassured her. "Don't be ashamed of your scars, Mi. They are a reminder of your survival, of your strength." He drew her into a hug and inhaled the vanilla-strawberries-parchment combination that was her signature scent. Quickly, however, he pulled away, stepping back as if burned.

Hermione blushed and looked into his kind face, relieved and flattered by his kindness.

"Mi?" she inquired.

"Oh, uh, well, I've noticed you make a face when people call you 'Mione, and as much as I appreciate your full name, sometimes I need to save a few minutes and call you something shorter, so…" George shoved his hand in his pocket and hunched bashfully.

"Mi." Hermione tried it out. She was pleasantly surprised that he had paid enough attention to notice that she disliked the common nickname. Her lips curled up at the corners.

"Okay, you can call me Mi. Just you, though. But wait - 'save a few minutes?'" Realization set in at the joke her expense and she swatted the redhead playfully.

George dodged her slaps easily and the two chuckled at their light-hearted banter.

"Thank you, George," Hermione spoke quietly, her face returning to its more somber state as she remembered the origins of their conversation. "Thank you so much for being a wonderful friend, my best friend, these days." Her caramel eyes shone with tears momentarily.

"Hey, no crying before the date even begins, alright?" George answered gruffly, trying to change the mood. "Save it for after the git screws up and you come crying home to little old Georgie." They both chuckled, and at that moment, the sound of someone apparating was heard in the hall.

Hermione smoothed her dress and her expression turned to one of anticipation. As she walked away from George and toward the door, George muttered quietly, "You're my best friend, too, Mi."

 **~oOo~**

The following day, Hermione woke a little later than usual, having returned from her date in the early hours of the morning. She stretched and a delicious smile spread across her face as she recalled the romantic evening. Again the pair had eaten dinner in Muggle London and taken a walk in the moonlight, but this time they had returned to the flat Seamus shared with Dean, who was otherwise occupied for the night, and Seamus surprised Hermione with dessert followed by a round of Muggle board games.

After admitting defeat, Seamus had spread a blanket across their laps and they cuddled against the couch, snogging deeply until Hermione broke it off and suggested it was best she head home.

Blushing with pleasure at the memory, the smitten witch rose from bed and headed to the loo. She dressed and grabbed breakfast quickly, bid Molly and Arthur goodbye, and apparated to George's flat. They had agreed to finish the moving and unpacking today, and she would feel guilty if she left George to do too much of it alone.

When she arrived, muffled sounds drew her attention to the one place in the apartment she had never ventured - Fred's room. She walked to the door, found it slightly ajar, and listened noiselessly. George was inside, and she didn't want to disturb what she correctly assumed was a difficult moment.

"Freddie, Freddie, Freddie, look at all this junk, you packrat," George was muttering, and she could hear the shifting of what sounded like papers. "You kept everything!"

Sensing that his mood was lighter rather than darker, Hermione pushed the door open wider, tapping gently to draw attention to her presence.

"Good morning, George. Sorry I overslept a little. How's it going?" Her voice was soft as she surveyed the space. The walls were painted garishly in bright blue and orange stripes; a full-sized bed and a large wardrobe took up most of the space; and George was seated at a roll-top desk that faced the window, pouring over piles of papers that were loaded with notes and drawings. Strewn across the floor were clothes, objects, and more papers so that the entire place looked like a minefield with no clear path to walk.

He brought his head up when she entered, and he could tell she was trying to gauge his emotional state; for that, he was thankful. She was a very compassionate person, it was one of the traits he loved most about her. _Wait, loved?_ He dropped the papers he was sorting into his lap in surprise at his own thoughts. Covering his reaction quickly, he pointed down and smiled in wonderment.

"Look here, Mi! It seems Fred was working on a few ideas of his own," he began, and she was pleased that his voice offered no hint of betrayal at his brother's secrecy, only awe at his genius.

"Here, he started figuring a pimple-popper charm. You know, where the victim develops pimples that pop themselves at random times. And here," he flipped to another page excitedly, "he was trying to work out a self-tickling feather, but it seems his prototypes were either too delicate or too forceful." He shook his head in amazement and then said thoughtfully, "I wonder why he kept these to himself?"

Hermione knelt down beside the chair George was sitting in and looked over at the notebook.

"Maybe he didn't feel ready to present them to you? At least, not until he worked the kinks out?"

George smiled at her. "Makes sense. We both did that quite a bit as business grew - came up with an idea, determined its feasibility, and then proposed it only if it was a viable option for the business. Of course, mine were usually more ingenious," he boasted playfully.

"No doubt," Hermione laughed in agreement. "Of course they were, oh master of pranks."

George carried a few of the pages of the many reams of papers he had been looking through into his own room and returned at once, ready to tackle the rest of his twin's belongings. The two spent the morning sorting and organizing, determining what George wanted to keep, what he thought his parents or siblings might want of his late brother's, and what should be donated or discarded. By lunchtime, the room was sparse, the unwanted furniture had been shrunk and removed to a donation center, and George and Hermione flopped unceremoniously onto the bare mattress, tired by their efforts.

"If you want, I can finish the room by myself this afternoon. It only needs the rest of my stuff moved in. And, if it's alright with you," she paused and chewed on her lip, "I'd like to change the color of the walls." She looked over at the redheaded man beside her.

George smiled and sat up, looking down at Hermione with gratitude. "That sounds great. But the walls? You don't love this stylish color combination? I can't believe he didn't make it into _Witch Weekly_ 's most fashionable flats!" He made the joke as he looked around the very empty room, and his voice took on a hollow tone.

"He really is gone. I mean, he's been gone for a while now, but this, this is so real."

"Is it too much?" Hermione asked sitting up beside him and putting her arm around his back. "Do you not want me to move in here?"

George shifted, moving closer to her small body, and she put her other arm around his front, embracing him tightly. He brought his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on top of her head. Hermione felt his tension lessen as he breathed into her hair deeply.

 _Did he just smell my hair?_ She wondered, attempting not to physically stiffen at his unusual action.

"No, Mi, of course not. It was my idea that you live here," George said quietly, bring her back to their conversation. "I just feel overwhelmed by Fred today, is all. Thank you." He drew back and looked down into her deep brown eyes, pausing to scan her face with an intense look Hermione had never seen before. With a start, he jumped up and strode out the door purposefully, calling over his shoulder, "Why don't you work on changing the wall color while I make us some lunch?"

 **~oOo~**

That night, Hermione settled into her new surroundings. She knocked on George's bedroom door hesitantly but determinedly and called his name.

"George?" the door swung open, and she saw the redhead laying on his stomach across his bed, looking between his inventing notebook and the papers he discovered in Fred's room.

"Yeah?" he asked in a distracted tone, not bothering to look up.

"Uh, I'm all unpacked, and," she paused but straightened up and pulled herself together, "and I want to celebrate our first night as housemates, so I'm going to shower and then I'm going to take you out for supper!" She smiled brightly, working her face hard to appear excited and not at all apprehensive.

"Sounds good," he said, a slight surprised tone to his voice. "Just, ah, let me know when you're ready to go and I'll be ready."

"Okay! Casual dress," she said over her shoulder as she headed to the shower.

"Damn, I was just pulling my dress robes out," he chuckled.

Less than an hour later, the duo were apparating into Muggle London.

"Where are we, Hermione?" George asked.

"You'll see." She took his arm, looped hers through his, and walked down the sidewalk to a restaurant whose sign read "Calcutta Street."

Inside, a Bengali woman led them to a cosy booth in the back corner that would afford them just enough privacy for her to answer any questions about the muggle world that George might ask. A waitress approached them and asked what she could get them, and Hermione confidently ordered two servings of the kosha mangsho. George sat in stunned silence, having no idea what he was about to eat.

Excitedly Hermione whispered across the table, "Do you trust me?" She wiggled her eyebrows at her dinner companion in the manner he typically did at her.

"Not entirely," he replied hesitantly. "I've pulled too many pranks on you over the years not to worry at least a little bit that this could be some sort of payback."

The bushy-haired witch smiled proudly. "Perhaps I'll get back at you someday, George, but tonight, we're celebrating moving in together by dining on what is quite possibly the best food on the planet."

"That's quite a boast, young lady; care to make a wager?" George paused for a moment. "If I don't like the meal, you have to pay for it, but if you're correct, and I do find it delicious, perhaps even the best meal ever, then I'll buy?"

"You would pay?" Hermione repeated. "But then, my friend, this would feel like a proper date, which it obviously is not." She snorted a little, joking about the wager, not realizing the hurt feelings her flip comment had caused. "I accept your terms, Weasley," she finished, still not aware of the pain in George's chest.

 _Oh, wow,_ he thought. _She was really quick to make sure I knew this wasn't a date. Geez, she goes out with Seamus twice, and it's like she's a dating pro. Speaking of…_

"Alright, Mi," George began, attempting to play it cool, "how are things with Seamus?"

His friend blushed to the roots of her hair, and a small smile instantly played on her lips.

"They're good, I think," she answered shyly. "Last night we had dinner and took a walk, and then we went back to his place." She frowned a little suddenly.

"What is it?" George prompted, though he was unsure where this conversation was headed.

"It's just, well, you know I've never really dated much -" Hermione paused and looked down at her hands.

" - I just don't want to come across as too inexperienced for him. I can imagine what he is probably expecting, having taken me out a couple of times, but I don't know if I'm ready to share that with him." She couldn't look George in the eye at this admission, and her fingers shredded a napkin on the table in front of her.

"Mi," George spoke softly in a comforting tone, "listen to me. Anyone who has known you since school knows you haven't exactly had much time to play the field and are thus inexperienced in, well, those areas. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, no matter what the bloke you're with wants. If Seamus ever tries to push you too far too fast, or if anyone does, for that matter - " his voice became a growl and his eyes darkened with anger at the thought.

Hermione put her napkin pieces down and placed her small hands on top of George's larger ones in the middle of the table.

"Thank you," she said. "Though I'm not asking you to be my bodyguard. I'm really asking you for a man's perspective. Do you think he'll think I'm a prude because I'm a twenty-year-old virgin?" Her eyes dropped to her lap in shame.

George stopped breathing. _A virgin? Of course she was,_ he just hadn't ever thought about it before. If she hadn't really ever dated, when would she have ever…

He squeezed her hands. "I wouldn't overthink it," he reassured her. "Whoever you do decide to, uh, to give your, well, you know, sleep with," he fumbled - it was his turn to be embarrassed - "they'll feel privileged that you love them enough to share the most personal part of you with them. Now, I am guessing our meals here." And he straightened up, removed his hands from the table, and watched as bowls of spicy mutton were placed in front of them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 - October/November 1999**

The next two weeks consisted of the roommates learning each other's idiosyncrasies and establishing a comfortable routine. This included figuring out who got to use the bathroom first in the morning (George), what time they'd head out for their morning run (6:30), and who would cook versus who would wash dishes (Hermione cooked on Mondays, Tuesdays, and alternate Wednesdays; George cooked on alternate Wednesdays, and Thursdays and Fridays. Saturdays were always take-away meals; Sundays were Weasley family dinners at the Burrow). The rest of the routines and issues of living with another person were surprisingly easy to adjust and accommodate. Both Hermione and George enjoyed having someone to talk to at the end of the day, and who better than your best friend to share a flat with?

Not to say that every moment was smooth sailing. Hermione was horrified at the mess George left in their shared bathroom.

 _A few simple Vanishing spells and a weekly Scourgify wouldn't kill him_ , she thought, eyeing the mess and smelling the filth. _Honestly._

Similarly, he would have liked to broach the subject of her hair, which he discovered had a habit of clinging to every surface in the flat. The couch, the floor, the counters - all were strewn with long wavy brunette strands whenever Hermione spent time in one spot.

 _It's a wonder she has any hair left on her head, there's so much of it tangled on the floor,_ he griped internally.

In addition, he knew better than to try to speak to her if she was reading unless the flat were on fire, and she grew accustomed to giving him a wide berth when the Harpies were playing and he was listening to the wireless; things had a tendency to get broken if his sister fouled or her team lost.

But the pros outweighed the cons. George handed her a steaming cup of coffee made just the way she liked it every morning when she came out of her room. He learned early on not to complain when she used up all the hot water washing her hair (primarily because of how good she smelled when they sat down on the couch together after her showers at night). Plus, Hermione got his clothes cleaner than he ever could, and he was prone to stains with all of his experimentation. She had offered to do all of the laundry, since one person's didn't really make a full load. George gratefully accepted and made up for it by helping with an additional chore or two each week. The unexpected benefit to her doing his laundry was that she sometimes mixed up their clothes. Every so often, he'd find a pair of lacy knickers mixed in with his clean pants. She never failed to blush when he returned them, which he did with great flair - swinging them over his head on one long finger or firing them like a rubber band across the room at her. And not only did he discover her affinity for wearing sexy undergarments beneath her generally conservative clothing, but he also learned that Hermione was a thief. Many a morning he watched her pad sleepily out of her bedroom into the kitchen wearing a pair of his flannel pyjama bottoms, much too big and thus rolled at the waist several times, paired with one of his long-sleeved Gryffindor tees. Or, she'd be wearing her own small pajama shorts and one of his Gryffindor Quidditch jerseys. The first time he recognized his bottoms on her slim hips, he almost fell over, his eyes bulging in their sockets. She saw the look of recognition on his face, but she continued into the kitchen without saying anything, and a tacit agreement was born: His clothes were her clothes.

Yes, domestic life at 93 Diagon Alley was rolling along smoothly.

Hermione's professional life, however, left something to be desired. She thoroughly enjoyed working on developing products, as it taught her more variations of spells and charms than she thought possible. She was constantly amazed at George's ability to manipulate existing magic to suit his needs, and his non-verbal and wandless magic skills had improved tremendously, which made his work easier and more efficient when inventing or restocking. In addition, Hermione had taken on the role of writing the patent legalese that each new product required, giving her cause to study law and Ministry regulations. In order to ensure the safety of each product, the thorough witch explored medical journals and researched potions ingredients and their combined risks.

However, while she was learning a lot about the magic required to run the shop, Hermione was eager to focus her studies on more practical applications. The struggle, she knew, would be in determining a plan and informing her employer/roommate/best friend.

 **~oOo~**

One night, curled up in bed in her new bedroom, Hermione re-played the past few weeks' events in her mind. She was in a unusual place for once, a place of contentment. She felt safe and comfortable, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for George washed over her.

 _He_ _is part_ _of_ _every aspect_ _my_ _life_ , she realized, _but I really don't mind the intrusion._ For months now, every day of her life had included the funny man, whether it was exercising, eating dinner at his family's home, or working at his shop.

 _This must be what it's like to have a big brother_ , she mused. _Well, sort of_. She felt the heat of embarrassment even alone in the dark when she considered the times that she and George had behaved in ways that were definitely NOT like a brother and sister. The back rubs, the falling asleep together on the couch, the winks and suggestive jokes, his familiar, comforting scent that drew her in: these were the fun, flirty parts of George - which he had managed to bring out in Hermione - that reached beyond a sibling bond.

 _They don't mean anything,_ she reassured herself. Surely these were just signs of intimate friendship. _But you don't do those things with Harry,_ she considered. And Harry was, in all ways but blood, Hermione's brother. Sure, when they were sleeping in a freezing cold tent night after night, lonely, scared, and hungry, she and Harry had shared a sleeping bag more than once as a means of keeping warm and comforting one another, but there had never been a romantic notion or physical desire on either of their parts, of that she was sure. With George, however, she felt a sort of tension just beneath the surface at all times. A sort of open invitation.

 _Don't be ridiculous,_ she chided herself, flipping her pillow over and seeking a different position to sleep in. _You're just more aware. You're feeling very...amorous,_ she decided was a good word, _now that you're spending time with Seamus, so you must just be inserting sexual tension into normal scenarios. Get over yourself._ She took a deep breath and forced her mind to think of Arithmantic equations.

In the middle of the night, George bolted awak and upright, his ear straining to listen as he gripped his wand from his nightstand. There it was again. A piercing cry, slightly muffled, but definitely coming from Hermione's bedroom. He leaped up and darted through his door and across the hall, slamming her door open and looking around for danger.

Hermione lay diagonally across the bed, her covers having been tossed to the floor, thrashing and pushing imaginary people? monsters? away from her.

"NO! I don't know where it is! Nooooo!" Her cries were desperate and pitiful, and George, realizing there was no imminent danger, strode quickly to the bed and pulled the terrified witch into his arms.

"Hermione, sweetheart," he cooed softly. "It's okay. You're safe. You're completely safe. It's going to be alright." She continued to thrash and fight until his voice penetrated her sleep. Her jerking movements slowed, and he saw her fists unclench and reach out as though seeking a lifeline. He leaned into her, and as he wore no shirt to sleep, she could only reach up and wrap her arms around his neck and grab his hair, which he minded not in the least. She nestled into his chest, her breathing slowing, and her eyes began to flutter open.

"George?" she whispered. She closed her eyes again and inhaled deeply, calming even further at the familiar smell.

"I'm here, Mi," he assured her. "It's going to be alright. You're perfectly safe." He was at a loss about what to say, but based on her response, promising her safety seemed to be helping, so for the next few minutes he held her tightly and repeated the words quietly, lulling her back to sleep.

When he was sure she was completely out again, he attempted to lean over and lay her back down, but Hermione kept a vice-like grip on him. Seeing no alternative, the redhead sighed, turned her over, and gently lay down beside her.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 - November 1999**

George was showered, dressed, and in the kitchen preparing breakfast by the time Hermione made her way shyly out of her room.

"Good morning," she said looking everywhere but at him. While she didn't remember all of the details of the night, she knew she had had a nightmare and that someone had comforted her. It wasn't hard to figure out who that must have been.

"Morning," George greeted her hesitantly, looking her up and down with a concerned expression. "How are you?"

She took a deep, shaky breath and blew out a long exhale before answering.

"That bad, eh?" came the reply. George placed a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast in front of her and poured her a cup of

coffee. Then he sat across from her with his own meal and waited patiently.

"I'm sorry, George," she began.

"For what?"

"Please," she spoke in irritation. "Don't act like last night didn't happen. I'm embarrassed enough as it is." She turned her eggs over with her fork, stabbing them unnecessarily hard. George reached over and put his hand over hers, effectively stopping the egg onslaught.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he assured her. "The best I can tell, you were reliving some part of your time on the run?" The last part was a question, inviting her to discuss her dream, but she shook her head forcefully and put her fork down.

"No," she demanded. "Don't ask me. I can't - can't - " She was visibly trembling, and George was by her side at once, kneeling at her chair and stroking her hair.

"You never have to talk about it," he whispered, "but a wise witch once told me that sharing your burdens can lighten the load." He repeated the advice she had given him when they were cooling down from a run one morning and George had been feeling particularly blue. Hermione had offered her ear and her sympathy, and he had opened up to her about his feelings since losing Fred.

She smirked and dared a look in his eyes. "I see what you did there," she gave a watery chuckle. "But this is different."

"Is it? Howso?" The redhead pulled back and stood up, insulted at the insinuation.

"George!" she immediately stood up as well. "I didn't mean to imply that your problems were any less than mine! In fact, they're worse, I'm sure. It's just, telling you won't help. I'm positive." She reached for his arm, and he resisted at first, but soon allowed her to stroke his sleeve in apology.

"You don't think it'll help, but I'm quite certain it won't hurt, either," he muttered.

"I don't know if I can," she whispered, eyes huge with fear.

He led her over to the couch.

"Sit down here and tell me what you were dreaming of. If you want to stop at any time, you can. I promise not to ask any questions."

Thirty minutes later, Hermione's tale was finished. She had taken him back to Malfoy Manor in great detail, which had surprised even her, and explained the story of the sword of Gryffindor (leaving out what they planned to use it for) and Bellatrix Lestrange's torture tactics. She ended her story with her arrival at Shell Cottage, unable to verbalize the aftermath. In truth, she remembered very little of those first few days as it was. George sat stunned and silent, absorbing her story and attempting to wrap his brain around her ordeal.

Hermione waited nervously as George processed her revelation. She picked at the threads of the blanket resting on the back of the couch, worrying about his reaction as the seconds turned into minutes. Finally, she stood up and walked into her bedroom, closing the door and laying facedown on her pillow, filled with embarrassment for having the audacity to share her suffering with him.

A few minutes later, George knocked and opened the door without awaiting a response.

"Thank you," he said simply.

One eye peeked out. "For what?"

"For trusting me. For trusting our friendship enough to share the most difficult thing you could ever tell me. But I have one question: Why now?" His voice was soft and sincere, and she turned on her side and looked up at the wizard before her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you said it happens very rarely now. Why did it happen last night?"

Hermione paused, contemplating. "Well, I've noticed that when I'm nervous or dealing with change my emotions trigger the nightmares. Maybe it's the move?"

Both seemed to agree on that, and the two sat silently for a few minutes.

So, what do you think?" she asked hesitantly.

"What do I -? Are you asking me if I judge you? If you're different now that I know?"

She nodded at all of it, and he sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Gods, Hermione, you are the most frustrating person I know. No, this doesn't change the way I see you. Wait - yes, yes it does." He paused and fear flashed across her eyes. "Not in the way you think," he explained. "I see you as an even stronger, smarter, braver witch than I already thought you were. And I didn't even know that was possible! There is no judgement against you, Hermione, for having faced the darkest magic and most evil witch in recent history and come out of it. And as for your scars, consider them badges of honor, as should anyone with whom you choose to share them. Wear them proudly, love. They remind those of us who see them you that you are a fighter." He didn't wait for her response, but instead, he left her sitting up, clutching her pillow and considering his statements.

When she emerged from her room an hour later, she found a note on the table that read _Got some products to work on. Back by 4 for dinner._

Dinner. Right. The Weasleys' weekly dinner. Hermione sighed and slouched forward. She didn't know if she had it in her to visit the Burrow tonight. Her nightmare and its subsequent conversation had left her emotionally drained, and there was always drama at dinner. What with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley agreeing to let Ginny live with Harry, Percy and Audrey getting engaged, and Bill and Fleur preparing for parenthood, some topic of conversation inevitably erupted into passionate disagreement. _Even agreements are passionate in this family,_ she thought to herself. But, this was what it meant to be part of a family, and Hermione loved the Weasleys as much as her own parents. Therefore, in spite of her mood, she showered, dressed, and prepared a salad to take to dinner.

 **~oOo~**

Arriving at the Burrow together, George and Hermione headed in separate directions - George to the living room and Hermione to the kitchen. Niceties were made, and Hermione concentrated on benign topics of conversation for most of the evening, not sure she wanted to deal with anything too emotional. George was as hilarious as ever, cracking jokes and poking fun, but anyone who cared to notice would easily see that his eyes drifted to the curly-haired witch more frequently than normal, assessing her wellbeing. She seemed a little distant this particular evening, and whenever he could, he moved himself close to her that he might give her hand a comforting squeeze or throw an arm casually but protectively around her shoulder. In the din and bustle, his attentions went largely ignored, but Hermione was immensely thankful for the gentle concern the brash jokester was showing her.

The night wore on, and the family was pleasantly surprised when Ron, who was never one to be late to a meal, arrived just in time to sit down and introduced his girlfriend to the table.

Luna had been a close friend to Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Ginny for years, but to see her in this capacity was completely unexpected. However, the role she now played was not unwelcome. Hermione, along with everyone else at the table, immediately recognized the positive effect the silver-eyed girl had on Ron. He ate slightly slower and reacted to others in a calmer manner than usual. In fact, he seemed generally more... _peaceful_. It was the only word Hermione could think of to describe him, and her initial surprise at seeing the two together quickly changed to sincere happiness for them both. When Luna started describing the potentially damaging effects of all the nargles in the room, the family politely listened, and Ron rubbed his thumb over the back of his girlfriend's hand soothingly. Hermione gave Ron a reassuring nod, and he understood her sign of acceptance and friendship.

After dinner, Hermione and George Disapparated fairly early, both a bit overcome with the day's emotional release. Upon arriving at their flat, a gray and brown barn owl tapped impatiently at their window. George opened the window, untied the message, and the owl flew away before Hermione could even give it a treat.

"Must have been waiting for us for a while," she guessed and turned to see what George was reading.

"Uh, okay then," he muttered to himself, and he tucked the small piece of parchment in his pocket.

"Everything okay?" Hermione inquired.

"What? Oh, yes, everything's fine, fine."

"You seem distracted. You wanna talk about it?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, okay. I just hadn't expected a response so soon. So, uh, well, you remember Lee Jordan?" he began.

"Of course I do, George. He's in the shop several times a week and comes 'round for dinner at least twice a week. What do mean ' _do I remember him?_ '" She was nonplussed by his awkward speech. "Is Lee okay?" She suddenly worried that something had happened, courtesy of a trait that had become second nature during the war - assuming the worst.

"He's great! In fact, he's coming to work in the shop," George reassured her immediately. He too was used to people fearing the worst. He chastised himself for not just getting to his point. "He's going to take my place for a bit. I'm, uh, I'm going away for a few weeks," he finished and looked everywhere but at the witch in front of him.

"I'm sorry, you're what?" Hermione asked incredulously. "What do you mean, you're going away? Is this a joke?"

"Not a joke, no. I, uh, I have an opportunity to visit Charlie in Romania, and I knew that with Christmas coming, I couldn't go unless we had more help in the shop, so I recruited Lee and he agreed to come work with you and Verity until I get back." He dared a look at the witch, whose mouth was hanging open in a most un-Hermione-like way. She closed it slowly however, as she considered this news.

"I see," she responded slowly. "So, I move in here, and you flee the country, leaving me to man the shop and the flat? Is this the reason you wanted me to move in in the first place? Were you just looking for a house sitter?" She couldn't hide the hurt in her voice.

"No, nothing of the sort!" George hurried to offer an explanation. "The timing...it's just a coincidence! Charlie's been pestering me, and I haven't been to Romania since he's lived there. I just, uh, I thought it might be a good time to go." He was a bit red-faced and out of breath at her accusation.

"Oh," she replied. This information took her some time to absorb. "Well, we'll keep things under control here. When do you expect to be back?"

He ticked off a few fingers, counting in his head. "I'm thinking I'll come back with Charlie for the holidays. Until then, try not to miss me too much, yeah?" He smiled at her and tried to appear flippant, even though the weight of leaving her had him feeling anything but.

 **~OoO~**

Romania was immensely colder than George was prepared for. He couldn't believe this harsh landscape and bitter weather was the home his brother had chosen, but as far as getting away and clearing his head, there couldn't be a better place than this.

Charlie was thrilled at his brother's decision to visit, though he suspected it wasn't made out of sheer familial attachment. Something weighed on George's mind, something other than his twin's death - which still overshadowed every Weasley, though no one more than George. Whatever was bothering him now was more immediate, and it had required a trip to a very different part of the world to give him space to cope. Charlie waited three days before bringing it up.

"So, brother of mine, how is Romania treating you?" He had taken George to work with him, braving the below freezing temperatures of the dragon reserve to observe a young Hungarian Horntail that had left its mother only weeks before. While dragon keepers were not the same as dragon healers, it was Charlie's job to determine if the adolescent was faring well on his own. Now he approached his younger brother with the same caution and care.

"I don't know how you do this," George answered truthfully. "The weather, the creatures, the land. Merlin, Charlie, this is intense!"

Charlie chuckled and served up two steaming bowls of stew. He sat down at his small table and looked intently at George.

"Well, be it ever so humble...But what brings you here, George? I've invited you before, but you've never taken me up. Just dying to see Romania in the winter?"

Between mouthfuls, George answered carefully. "Not entirely. I needed to get away for a bit. Clear my head. You know?" He looked searchingly at his brother.

Nodding, the elder Weasley responded. "Seems to me there's only two reasons a bloke takes off. Either he's on the run from the law, or there's a witch done him wrong. I reckon it's the second reason, since the _Daily Prophet_ hasn't published a wanted poster with your ugly mug on it." He smirked and waited for George's reply.

"Too right, though everyone knows I'm the best looking Weasley," George answered, shaking his head a little. "You ever feel like you were too close to a situation to look at it entirely?"

"I know what you mean. And if you're feeling a bit claustrophobic, then I'm guessing the bird involved is Weasley Wizard Wheezes' newest employee and your new roommate? A Miss Hermione Granger? What's she done to get your knickers in a twist?"

"Nothing! She hasn't done a ruddy thing, except be herself. She's so bloody smart, and thoughtful, and funny, and pretty, and…"

"Pretty, eh? Any other flattering adjectives you'd like to call her?" Charlie was a little surprised at first to hear George raving about their long-time friend, someone whom he saw only in a sisterly way, but then, she was much younger than he, and he hadn't spent nearly the time his younger siblings had with her.

"Come on, mate, you can't deny that. You saw her when you were home last. You know she's grown up and turned gorgeous. But, that's not it. She's everywhere! She's at the shop, she's at the flat, she's at Sunday dinners - "

"She's in your dreams," Charlie interrupted, only half-teasingly.

A red-faced George responded truthfully. "Lately, yeah." He ran his hands through his hair. "And now she's dating Seamus, and everything is sideways. It's making me mental. So, here I am."

Charlie sighed sympathetically and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I wish I could solve your problem, mate, but it's obviously not that simple. What do you want to happen?"

George stood up and paced the small cabin Charlie called home. "See, that's just it. I'm not looking to break her up with Seamus. That'd be dastardly. She's happy, and seeing her happy makes me happy. But then there's times like the other night, when I'm holding her, and -"

"Wait a mo'. Holding her? What the hell kind of relationship do you two have? Why are you holding another bloke's girl?" Charlie looked disappointed and wondered if he'd been spending too much time away. He clearly hadn't taught his brother anything.

"Not like that. Well, not really like that. She has nightmares, see. It's not my story to tell, but just know, those three had some really effed up times during the war." He stopped himself to prevent sharing Hermione's deepest secret, and Charlie could see how much respect George had for "those three."

Charlie nodded. "I can only imagine."

"Anyway, she cried and I woke up, so I went into her room and I calmed her down. That's all. But feeling her, holding her, gods, Charlie, it's too much!" He resumed pacing, this time swinging his arms in frustration.

Charlie sat quietly for a while, pondering his brother's predicament.

"If she wasn't with Seamus, what would you do?" he asked.

"If she wasn't with Seamus? I'd...I'd do...nothing," George hung his head shamefully.

"What? Nothing? What happened to 'I'm the better looking twin'? Since when do you sit back and do nothing while a pretty bird passes right under your nose? Merlin's beard, George, don't you have any Gryffindor in you?" Charlie was mostly just taking the mickey out of his brother, but he was hoping to inspire him as well.

"Hey, hey, that's enough of that," George began to defend himself. "The point is, she _is_ with Seamus, so supposing doesn't do me any good."

"Not necessarily, brother. Tell me about your friendship."

George spent the evening regaling Charlie with stories of him and Hermione. The elder brother listened and listened, marveling at his brother's enthusiasm for the girl. _Woman,_ he corrected himself. _She's got to be… twenty? About that,_ he figured.

"...and now she's dating someone and I'm here and life's bollocks," George finished dramatically. He flopped down on the couch, his bed for the duration of his stay, and Charlie shoved the long legs off of his lap unceremoniously.

"You've got it bad, mate," Charlie agreed. "I don't know what other option you have than to come clean with her. She obviously enjoys spending time with you. Hell, she lives with you! That's got to count for something. If you don't tell her, she can't choose you. If she doesn't know she's got a choice, then you've made the choice for her." He scratched his chin, itching the stubble that seemed ever-present no matter how often he shaved.

"Tell her? That's your answer? Come on, Charlie! I didn't travel across five portkeys for an answer you could've sent by owl!" George burst out angrily. The simple response was hardly what he was looking for.

"Well, that's my gut. But give me time. Work with me for another week and we'll sort it out, yeah? By the time we get home for Christmas, you'll have her eating out of your hands."

"I'll settle for eating out at a restaurant with me. On a date. As my girlfriend," came the retort, but hope filled George's chest for the night.

Another week flew by, the Weasley brothers toiling in the freezing ice and snow, dodging fireballs and spiked tails. Each enjoyed the other's company; Charlie hadn't realized how fulfilling it could be to have someone who knew him that well in his daily life. George, on the other hand, thrived in the near-solitude of the Romanian wild, his need for familial bonding slaked by Charlie's stories and memories about their family, friends, and classmates.

The two grew closer, and a new layer of well-being seemed to blanket George; he felt truly happier, truly livelier, and suddenly one night, long after the brothers had drained the night's bottle of Firewhiskey, George knew something inside of him had healed. In the morning, he carried himself noticeably taller, more confident than previously. Charlie hadn't realized how much George had been hurting still until he saw the improvement, and he was pleased by the near-return to his former character.

As the days of his Romanian holiday drew to a close, George steeled himself to return to Diagon Alley and to Hermione. He had not contacted her individually while he was gone but had written a few quick lines to her, Lee, and Verity to inquire about the shop. The replies were always generically signed by all three but in Verity's hand, so he couldn't be sure what role Hermione played in the "glad to hear you're enjoying Romania" messages. Charlie's initial advice had remained his only advice, other than some late night, too-many-Firewhiskeys plots to do Seamus in. Thus, George was still at square one, but his general mood had been improved considerably thanks to the getaway and the company he had kept.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 - November/ December 1999**

After the initial shock of George's departure, Hermione recovered but remained concerned. Though she was hurt by his decision to leave so abruptly and without sharing his plans with her, the witch did what she had done her entire life when upset: she threw herself into her work. Like George, Lee was tons of fun to work with, and in the evenings she took the time alone in the flat to clean, organize, and read, read, read. In fact, the time alone afforded her a chance to consider her career options. She visited the public library and the Ministry and spoke with members of many departments. She even returned to Hogwarts to meet with Headmistress McGonagall. She was excited at her prospects and eager to share her decision with her closest friend when he returned.

She and Seamus continued to go on dates, and when she mentioned that her flatmate was out of the country, the Irishman suggested they spend time alone at her place. The first night, Hermione made a delicious dinner before retiring to the couch for a thorough snog-fest. Seamus left at a relatively respectful hour. The next time he came over, however, the physical portion of the program began before dinner was even served, and soon, the couple was moving eagerly down the hall towards Hermione's bedroom. Once inside, in the darkness and heat of the moment, Hermione felt herself getting carried away, and she brought the activity to a screeching halt. Seamus was confused and a little hurt, so after composing herself and serving dinner, Hermione revealed her desire to preserve her virginity. Though he was surprised, Seamus responded respectfully. He left shortly after, however, and Hermione worried that she might not hear from him.

On his third visit to the apartment, a week later, Seamus had insisted on being the one to make dinner, and he set a romantic scene. The pair finished a bottle of wine with their meal, and again they stumbled into her room and fell passionately across her bed. This time, Hermione's fuzzy head gave her the courage to delve deeper into physical intimacy than ever before. As Seamus kissed his way across her bare chest, however, his lips grazed a shiny patch of flesh that comprised one of her scars. He drew his head up and paused to examine her body in the moonlight, and his initial shock stopped him for one beat too long. Embarrassed and under the assumption that he was turned off by her appearance, Hermione drew the bed sheet around her and held back her tears, insisting as politely as she could that he leave. Unsure of what to say or do, Seamus obeyed. Alone, the witch had a nightmare for the first time since that night a month ago with George, and this time, no one was there to calm her fears. Seamus sent two owls that week, but both went unanswered. It was the last time she heard from him.

In the days that followed, the confused witch found herself yearning for George, missing his humor, his grin, his hugs, and his care. She even missed his smell, she realized one night, when she was cleaning up the living room and returned a stack of Quidditch magazines to his bedroom. Once inside, she was overcome by the smell of George - part spearmint, part pungent explosive powder, and part something fresh and uniquely him. She took a moment and sat down on his bed, breathing deeply. That's when she saw the picture of the two of them that stood on his bedside table. It had been taken without her knowing at the time, and she was unaware he had a copy of it, let alone that he had framed it and kept it in pride of place by his bed. Ginny had snapped it when they were sitting around the table at Grimmauld Place one night. In it, remnants of dinner can be seen in the foreground, but the focus is on George, who is attempting to feed bits of treacle tart to Hermione, her face mashing up and nose wrinkling in refusal as she shakes her head. George's eyes twinkle merrily as he persistently shoves the food at her, and in the last motion, Hermione's eyes widen and she smiles an open-mouthed grin as George jams the dessert in. Looking at the captured memory, Hermione laughed and sighed simultaneously. It was such an honest glimpse of the fun George brought to her life. Missing her friend, she left the room, closing the door behind her, but not without first stealing one of his t-shirts to wear to bed.

The prankster had been largely silent since he left, corresponding generically to his trio of shopkeepers. She let it go, assuming that whatever had caused him to leave necessitated physical and emotional distance. She knew grief and pain well enough to know that the stages of recovery were far from linear, and perhaps he was feeling something suddenly that couldn't be helped by the wet slush of England's winter. Hermione was relieved that he would be with Charlie. Whether he'd confide in him she didn't know, but at least he hadn't struck out alone. Still, she couldn't deny that the fact that he hadn't confided in _her_ was hurtful.

 _Maybe you're not as close to him as you think,_ Hermione considered. She shook her head at the thought that perhaps she'd invested more into the friendship than George had. _Regardless,_ she chided, _he's your friend and you owe it to him to give him space and time._ It was just hard for the controlling little witch not to dig in and offer her assistance. As he had done since the two struck up a friendship, George Weasley was presenting Hermione with a situation she had not anticipated, and her inability to research and control the circumstances frustrated her. She looked forward to his return even more eagerly so that she could determine if his impromptu journey had helped him heal in a way that she could not provide.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 - December 1999**

Finally it was Christmas Eve, and Hermione was eager for her roommate's return. She spent the day wrapping gifts the Muggle way and listening to Christmas carols on the wireless in an effort to keep her brain occupied. When there was nothing left to wrap, she filled the tub with scented bubbles and took a relaxing soak. Afterwards, she headed into her room to choose her wardrobe. But before dressing, the pretty witch dropped her towel and stood before her full-length mirror. She turned her head this way and that, in moves reminiscent of Crookshanks, she giggle to herself, when he was trying to understand her ramblings or confessions to her late familiar.

It wasn't a perfect body. Her mother once commented that the women in her family had the bodies of twelve year old boys, so Hermione had been relieved when her breasts developed and her hips gently flared, though she realized early on that she would never have the alluring curves of more popular girls like Lavender Brown or the shapely muscles of her best girlfriend, Ginny. But regardless, thanks to a strict exercise routine, which she truly enjoyed, her petite build was healthy and fairly fit.

After searching for cellulite and finding none, Hermione's eyes caught on the obvious flaws. The deep scar on her neck, small in length but angry in color, caused by the cursed blade of Bellatrix Lestrange. The purple gash that bisected her ribcage cruelly etched by the wand of Antonin Dolohov. Three somewhat circular raised patches - one on her chest near her collarbone, one on her shoulder blade, and one on her side under her breast - served as constant reminders of the searing pain the sparks and ashes of Fiendfyre can cause. She ran her fingertips over every bump, warp, and divet. She stroked her own skin, watching herself in the mirror. She breathed in and out, looked herself up and down, and re-lived her journey. When her musings reached the present day, Hermione was relieved to feel a sense of satisfaction. The only thing that put her off was her relationship with Seamus. She deeply regretted the fact that they hadn't spoken. She had felt scared and ashamed that night in her room, and she had had absolutely no intention of sleeping with him; when she saw his expression, she was not prepared to tell him about her past and to open up about her scars. Her assumption that he was disgusted was, she admitted now, probably far-fetched, as he had never been anything but kind, generous, and loving towards her. And yet, she still hadn't contacted him.

Finally, she dressed.

A new cerulean cashmere sweater, bought as an early gift to herself for surviving the hectic joke shop seasonal rush, and a pair of dark denim trousers comprised her outfit for the family gathering. Her hair she dried with her wand and styled her long curls with more effort than she'd put in since her last date with Seamus.

 _I screwed that up royally,_ she could admit at this point, _and that is why it's better just to be single and surround myself with good friends._ Which is how she wound up alone among the couples on Christmas Eve.

 **~oOo~**

Ron and Luna, Harry and Ginny, Bill and Fleur, and Percy and Audrey were all in high spirits when she arrived at the Burrow laden with gifts. Hermione's heart was filled with joy at being surrounded by her big, adoptive family. The shop had done remarkable business during the holiday season, and Hermione was feeling quite flattered by the praise everyone was heaping on her. She couldn't wait to show George their profits and progress. Surrounded with cheer, she unloaded her presents at the tree, poured a mug of warm butterbeer, and positioned herself within sight of the front door so that she would see George as soon as he arrived.

Finally, just as everyone piled into the cramped kitchen for dinner, the back door opened and two snowmen trudged inside. Mrs. Weasley leaped to her feet and rushed over, vanishing snow and casting warming spells as fast as her wand would allow. Mr. Weasley followed closely behind, shaking hands and clapping backs and generally adding to the deep-voiced chorus of hellos and good-to-see-yous coming from the entryway. Ron even took it upon himself to levitate their packs upstairs for them, probably hoping it would facilitate getting them to the table. Hermione just sat there, watching as first Charlie, his good-natured grin and strong, muscled body strode into the room and traveled around the table, hugging and speaking with the rest of the family. Finally, George came into full view, and Hermione's heart beat faster than she thought possible. He seemed taller, broader, and yes, happier than a few weeks ago, and she blushed to her toes when he gave her one of his patented winks as he too began the rounds at the table.

"Lovely to see you as always, Granger," Charlie spoke quietly to her as he pulled her into a brotherly embrace. "I return George to you in one piece. Thanks for lending him to me." He smiled his own mischievous grin at her.

"Thank you Charlie," she responded, sounding grateful at first, but then, "though the flat will never be as clean or as quiet as it was while he was gone." She ended in a mockingly bitter tone, and Charlie smiled triumphantly at her teasing. A quick wit was requisite of any girl worthy of a Weasley man as far as he was concerned.

It seemed like forever before George made his way to his usual seat, right next to hers, and he enveloped her in a hug that took her breath away. He too gasped at the contact, inhaling her scent and closing his eyes as he drew her in. He opened them again quickly, and when she unconsciously lingered with her head nuzzling his chest, he pulled back and sat down, telling her how wonderful it was to see her before launching into hilarious stories of near-death dragon attacks and gallant efforts on his part to save Charlie's life.

"I don't think that's quite how that went, little brother," Charlie laughed in response. The two dominated the dinner conversation, giving Hermione plenty of time to study her friend.

His greeting had been odd, she thought. It began normal, for them, but then he cut it short, pulling away and shifting the conversation into a group chat.

 _We'll catch up one-on-one at home. He obviously doesn't want to be rude and talk to only one person while we're here. It's Christmas, and one of the things I love best about him is his dedication to his family… Wait. Love? Like, admire...I respect his family loyalty. That's all._

Flustered for the remainder of dinner, Hermione helped clear away the dishes and then moved into the living room to join the others. Normally, she would squish onto the couch between George and Percy and whoever else could squeeze in, but she had missed her chance that night, Audrey having the pleasure of being stuck between the two, so she leaned against the built-in bookshelves along the back wall. From there she had a vantage point to observe the rest of the family, yet she felt a bit invisible. The fact that George noticeably made only small efforts to include her in his jokes and conversations hurt her, though she wasn't sure she had a right to feel upset. She held her tongue through the "night before" gift exchange, where everyone opened one present, and then she bade the room a good night and explained that she had a headache and would go to bed early.

Alone in the room she once shared with Ginny, Hermione's head did start to ache.

 _What is going on?_ she wondered. Her closest ally was acting certainly not as an enemy but a bit as a stranger. She lay down on the bed she'd inhabited before moving in with George, and wondered how far a Summoning charm would really reach. Perhaps she could move her stuff back in here by morning and not have to face living with George alone.

 **~oOo~**

As soon as Hermione ascended the stairs, Charlie yanked George by the arm into the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, is this how it's going to be?" Charlie whispered angrily.

George shook him loose and scowled. "What are you talking about? How _what's_ going to be?"

"When we left Romania, you had narrowed it down to two options: 1. keep on as her best friend and act like nothing is different, or 2. tell her the truth and ask her to date you. Which of those options involved treating her like a distant cousin?"

"You're barmy; nothing's different," George said unconvincingly. Even he could feel his resolve slipping. He shrugged. "I don't know how to act. Did you see her? She looks bloody terrific! How am I supposed to pretend I don't notice that?"

"She looked beautiful, you're right. Why didn't you tell her so? You would have a few weeks ago, yeah?"

"But that's the point - I'm just her friend, aren't I? I'm supposed to treat her the way I'd treat my best mates, and I've sure as hell never told Lee how gorgeous he looked. And besides, I'd never hit on another bloke's girl."

"You're messing it up, brother. Relax and be yourself. Did she even mention Seamus? Did anyone? If they're serious, wouldn't he be here?" Charlie had a point. Then again, Hermione had been unusually quiet, and George had been unusually aloof.

"Oi, fix this!" Charlie punched George in the shoulder.

"Ow! Okay, okay, I'll get on it." The two returned to the living room and joined in on the Exploding Snap tournament on the floor in front of the Christmas tree.

 **~oOo~**

The next two days at the Burrow were a whirlwind of activity and social calls. George's behavior returned to "normal" with Hermione, beginning the following morning, when he charmed her coffee mug to drain every time she tried to take a sip. He knew how much she loved the bitter liquid, and he also knew better than to engage her in too much cerebral activity until at least her second cup. Watching her tip the mug to her mouth and then grimace as she attempted to take a sip reduced him to a fit of laughter that he failed to disguise, and while Hermione was originally so mad she threw the mug at his head, she shook her head ruefully, muttered a "Finite," and poured herself another. George took her response as a triumph and settled back into the easy intimacy they had always shared.

Hermione was relieved to be on the receiving end of one of George's pranks. Not only did she appreciate a good joke (now that she was aware of the layers of complicated magic that most of his tricks involved), but she was happily surprised by George's playful, boastful manner. His attitude was reminiscent of the days before FredandGeorge became just George, and the perceptive witch took his return to his former personality as another positive sign on the road to healing. She felt infinitely better around him, and both of them tried to behave as if nothing had changed since before he left.

 **~oOo~**

Apparating to their flat on Boxing Day, the two friends looked around and laughed a bit uncomfortably. Hermione was eager to ask about his experiences in Romania, and George's tongue was tripping over questions about her relationship status. However, the two shyly put their luggage in their rooms before reconvening on the couch. There was a noticeable distance between them, physically, at least, and it was Hermione who broke the awkward silence.

"So, uh, how did you find Romania?" she asked breathlessly.

"Oh! It's the most amazing country! The terrain is altogether different than England, and the dragons - Merlin, they're terrifying!" He spoke enthusiastically for about ten more minutes on the subject of dragons, grateful for what he perceived to be a fairly harmless topic.

Hermione listened with interest, but her mind wandered a bit. She found her eyes roving over his face, drinking in his handsome features, now that they were alone together. His thick, shocking red hair that fell in waves over his forehead, never neat and orderly; his brilliant cornflower blue eyes that sparkled, twinkled, and shone with the passion of his words and jokes; his straight, simple nose, virtually covered with freckles (which then spread across the rest of his face as though a liquid pooling under the heat of his warm, mildly flushed cheeks); his mouth - oh, his mouth - how had she never noticed the plumpness of his lips or the tempting curve upward of each side? Suddenly she was imagining kissing the corners of that mouth, and surprised by the turn her thoughts had taken, she jumped up and interrupted his story abruptly.

"I've just realized - I never gave you your Christmas present!" She ran to her bedroom to get the gift she'd been keeping for him.

George watched her leave, mouth gaping. From his seat, he Accio'ed the gift he'd gotten her, and it flew into his hands at the same time Hermione returned from her room. She looked excited as she sat back down, this time closing the space between them, their knees bumping together.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Hermione," George said kindly, and was that a blush on his cheeks?

"Same for you, George, but thank you," Hermione replied, holding out her hand in which sat a small flat package. George's fingers brushed her palm, leaving a tingly feeling as he took up the gift. Hermione closed her hand quickly, surprised by the effect of the contact.

"You first," George said generously, handing her a poorly wrapped, lumpy, circular package.

Hermione accepted the gift, appreciating his obvious efforts at wrapping it himself and attempted to delicately open it. As the paper fell to the floor, she was struck silent in wonder. In her hands sat a hoop of pliable wood wrapped in soft leather with thick strings woven inside the circle, like a spider web. From the bottom of the hoop hung three more thin leather straps which were lined with colored beads and adorned with the feathers of a bird she was sure was not an owl.

"This is beautiful," she whispered, fingering the beads. "What is it?"

"First, I should explain that this is not Romanian, though I got it from an American Indian whom I met there," he began, pleased at her initial reaction. "It's called a Dreamcatcher. It comes from a legend that originated in North America. The Ojibwe Indians told stories of a Spider Woman who cared for the children of the tribe, but when the tribe spread farther across the land, she couldn't protect everyone anymore. So, the mothers and grandmothers would weave these magical webs to capture bad dreams and only allow good thoughts to enter the children's minds as they slept. When the sun came up, bad dreams disappeared for good." He shrugged, feeling shy suddenly. "I thought it might protect you from your nightmares."

Hermione's deep brown eyes were wider than he had ever seen them when he finally had the courage to look up from his lap. They were also dripping silent tears - just a few - and she was so clearly moved by his gesture that he dropped his gaze downward again in embarrassment.

"Oh George," she whispered. For once, the eloquent Hermione Granger was at a loss for words.

"Yeah, well…I'll just, I'll open mine now, shall I?" He fumbled with the neatly wrapped package. When the paper was off, he held a small black box in his hand. Opening the lid, he saw a Galleon nestled in tissue paper. He paused, glanced at Hermione curiously, and withdrew the coin from its container. As soon as he palmed the Galleon, it grew warmer, and he brought it up to his face for closer examination. This was no ordinary coin. In the same way she had once charmed the coins used by members of Dumbledore's Army to communicate information, the coin in George's hand responded to his personal magical signature and recited words of encouragement or humor that were trademark Fred Weasley lines. For example, the first line to scrawl across the coin was, "Who are you kidding, I'm the better looking twin!"

George laughed as he read the words and then looked at his roommate in wonder.

"I thought you might like a little reminder to carry around with you, not that you need to be reminded about Fred, but something that might make you laugh," she explained cautiously. "It's a modified Protean charm, nothing terribly complicated or anything…" Her humble explanation faded as she looked down at her hands, wringing one another in her lap. She had been aware when she was spelling the coin that the gesture could backfire spectacularly, resulting in offending George. However, the look on his face now told her he truly appreciated her efforts.

"This is amazing. Hermione...I don't know what to say. How did you? I mean, it's like he's - It's really brilliant magic," he stumbled through his awe, ultimately repeating her words from years ago and meaning them sincerely. He squeezed the coin in his fist, and suddenly unable to stop himself, leaned forward and kissed Hermione square on the lips.

She was only shocked for a fraction of a second before the sheer pleasure of feeling George's lips on hers directed her to reciprocate, and she carded her hands through his hair before wrapping them around his neck and pulling herself almost completely onto his lap. George moaned at the action, opening her mouth with his tongue and tangling with hers passionately. His own hands clutched her back, the one holding the coin still balled in a fist to avoid dropping the thoughtful gift, the other stroking her shoulder, gripping her waist, and sliding up and down. Heat radiated off of them as they gave in to the long repressed feelings.

 _This is what heaven feels like,_ Hermione thought, as she released his lips and peppered kisses along his jaw before reclaiming his mouth. Once free, George pressed his lips to her throat, lightly sucking and kissing along her neck before returning to her plump lips.

The release of pent up emotions lasted longer than either might have presumed, but finally, in desperate need of oxygen, the couple pulled apart, gasping in pleasure. Their eyes shone with emotion unapologetically, and they waited for the other to speak.

Finally, George could wait no longer. He opened his mouth, but simultaneously, Hermione leapt up.

"I've got to go to bed! G'night!" And she flew down the hall to her room, closing the door tightly behind herself and leaning up against it, panting as if she'd just run a mile.

 _What in Merlin's saggy…?_ He made to follow her, but then thought the better of it. He sat back in his seat, shrugged, and ran a hand through his hair. A combination of confusion and satisfaction spread through him as he replayed the last few minutes. Finally, he turned the charmed Galleon over and over in his hand until it grew warm and his twin's words appeared around the edges. _Witches,_ it said. _They're all a bit nutters._


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 - December 1999**

Hermione slid down her door into a sitting position on the floor, leaning her head against the smooth hardness behind her. Her heart continued to pound as she ran her tongue lightly over her swollen lips. What in Merlin's beard had prompted her to look at her best friend, her flatmate, her boss in such a way? Yet, she had to admit, it was easy to do. She'd always known he was handsome, well-built, and charming, but those were just the facts of George Weasley. She'd never felt the kind of pull she had felt just then.

 _Must have been a reaction to his thoughtful gift._ _Plus,_ _I'm still trying to deal with the whole Seamus thing,_ she decided. _It's been a few weeks since we..._ she allowed herself to relive a few of the steamier moments of their relationship, until the details of Seamus's rejection of her (Or was it her rejection of him? She was quite sure the tables were turned against her on this point.) came to the forefront. _I must be wanting something physical, and George is the man who's right in front of me. That's it._

But to want it from George? This was new, and it was puzzling. _Do I really want George? Do I just miss physical contact? Should I be getting back together with Seamus? Should I go back out there right now and finish what we started? Would he want me to? Gods, I want to!_

Hermione Granger was not one to ask a series of questions or be presented with a problem and not attempt to work it out. She rose shakily, and crossed to her desk. She withdrew a piece of parchment, her favorite quill, and some ink, and made some notes. She jotted down her musings, her feelings, and her behaviors, and then she pulled out a new piece of parchment and revised her notes, categorizing them into one of two spaces: logical or emotional. When she was satisfied with her "research," she sat back, blew the ink dry, and examined her findings. Only then did her heart begin racing once more, for in spite of the controlled method she used to approach this situation, her conclusions were, quite frankly, inconclusive.

For every point she'd jotted about George's attributes, she had equally strong points for reuniting with Seamus. The only difference was that her list of George's positive traits was far longer than Seamus's, but she could defend that with the fact that she'd known George far longer. Ultimately, she had to admit, they were both wonderful men. She leaned back and sighed deeply. A list, she realized, was not going to make up her mind. Because it wasn't her mind that needed help - it was her heart.

 **~oOo~**

"Good morning?" George asked tentatively, handing Hermione a steaming mug of coffee prepared exactly the way she likes it.

"Hi," she responded shyly, accepting his offering gratefully. "I'm sorry for running off like that last night. I just, I had... I wasn't feeling myself.'

"And how are you feeling today?" George charmed breakfast to make itself and walked behind her chair, putting his hands on her shoulders and massaging gently. A moan slipped past her lips before she could help it and the movement stopped. George pulled his hands away and served them both food, sitting as far from her as possible.

"So, uh, what time are we opening the store today?" Hermione sipped her coffee, her knees pulled up to her chest. She was wearing an old Quidditch jersey of George's, and the neck was so big it slid off one shoulder. Her hair was pulled back haphazardly, with unruly tendrils falling out all over the place. In short, she looked like an angel, as far as George was concerned, and suddenly, he couldn't help himself.

"Mi, are you still dating Seamus?"

A blush rose steadily up her face. Her eyes dropped to the table top, and her fingers fidgeted, hugging her mug tightly for support.

"He...he saw my scars." Her words were barely a whisper.

"Did he hurt you?" He leapt from his seat and rushed over, hovering protectively.

"No! At least, not physically."

"What did he say?" His voice was hard.

"That's just it. He didn't say anything. He just looked. And then I made him leave." She hid her hands in the sleeves of the jersey and buried her face.

"Oh, love." He knelt by her seat and took her into his arms. Hermione wrapped herself around him and held on, as if for dear life.

Too soon, she broke away and ran her hands over her hair, smoothing it back.

"But since he left, I've realized that his silence may not have been a judgment. I may have ended a perfectly good relationship. What do you think, George?"

He stood back up and considered her question.

"I think...I think that your stubborn streak is showing. You were scared and you may have overreacted when confronted with a situation over which you had no control. Doesn't that sound like you?"

Hermione was impressed by his thoughtful response. _Except of course he knows me that well,_ she realized. She looked up at him again and silence stretched between them. _Did last night mean nothing to you?_ _Or rather, what did last night mean to you?_

Hermione interpreted George's advice as encouragement to be with someone other than him, someone who actually wanted to be with her.

"What do I do?"

"What do you want to do?"

That was a loaded question. The feelings she felt last night, which had come to light during his time in Romania, were very present, but she was entirely too afraid to act on them. Plus, there was Seamus. She felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to amend her actions. And also, what _did_ she feel for him? The list she had sat up making appeared in her mind. Seamus was good and kind and fun and handsome - all good things. In fact, there was only one issue that could not be fixed:

 _He's not George._

Hermione straightened up and smiled. "I want to get to work, that's what I want to do. I'll probably owl Seamus later and see if we can talk. At the very least I owe him an apology for not giving him the benefit of the doubt, right?"

George was taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor from emotionally jilted lover to determined, strong woman, but then again, this was Hermione. He agreed with her and stepped aside to let her pass him on her way to the sink. Just as she reached an arm's length away, however, he pulled her back to him and kissed her forehead.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered, and his words sounded like perhaps he was reassuring himself as well.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 - December 1999**

Over the next two days, George and Hermione resumed their roommate/coworker/friend rhythm as much as possible, but a silent awkwardness hung in the air. Hermione did send an apology letter to Seamus, who responded immediately, asking her to be his date to George's annual party on New Year's Eve. She agreed, though she wasn't sure if that was too grand a gesture. She told herself she'd ask for George's advice later, but then she admonished herself at the thought.

 _You're going to ask him for advice about the other man?_ Even her conscience saw something twisted in this scenario. She spent the rest of the afternoon stacking and restacking boxes in the back room, working up a sweat and chastising herself for her foolishness.

The day before New Year's Eve, Hermione assisted George in decorating their flat and organising his party supplies. Food, drinks, favors, music - her opinion and mark was on everything he had planned with the exception of the fireworks he'd set off at midnight. Pyrotechnics, he knew, weren't really her thing.

What was her thing, it seemed to George, was to pretend the best kiss of his life had never happened, and to instead gab incessantly with Verity and Ginny and every other female he knew about what they would be wearing to the party and who they'd be bringing as dates. It had never occurred to George that Hermione would have a date that night, yet a highly romantic and exciting evening was the one she decided to spend fixing her relationship with Seamus? George knew to read the signs loud and clear. Whatever that kiss may have been, it wasn't of any importance to her.

Hermione's regrets about agreeing to be Seamus's New Year's Eve date grew stronger by the hour. When her friends talked about their dates, they were excited that the kiss at midnight was a prelude to more romantic activities. They were committed to their significant others and knew them intimately. Without a doubt, the brainy witch realized, this had to be one of the worst days of the year to have an awkward, "Sorry I thought my body disgusted you and I still won't have sex with you" make-up date. She realized now the inappropriate message she would be sending as Seamus's plus-one, but she had absolutely no idea how to get out of it, given that the party was at her home. On top of that, every time she looked at George, her body begged her to press itself against him and pick up where they left off the other night. Thus, she avoided him at work and barricaded herself in her room after dinner. The dreamcatcher, meantime, seemed to be working, as her dreams were filled entirely with images of her and George in the hottest of compromising situations.

New Year's Eve day found George and Hermione wrapped around one another.

"Could you _please_ raise the banner higher?"

"Could _you_ please untangle the streamers?"

"I would, but they're woven into your hair. Honestly, woman, can't you tame those curls?"

Tension filled the flat as the two put the finishing touches on the party decor. George's wand arm was wrapped around Hermione's head and Hermione flicked her wand across George's face in an attempt to levitate the "Happy New Year!" banner to its proper height. Stepping back from the exasperating witch, George sighed in exasperation and flung himself down on the couch. Hermione had been about to do the same, but instead she walked over to the armchair and lay across it.

"What time is everyone arriving?"

"7:00."

"Merlin! It's already half five! I'd better start getting ready!"

Hermione flew from the room and a moment later George heard the water running in the shower. He let out another long sigh, this one quite pitiful. He normally looked forward to this night, but this year's party was tainted. Yes, he'd acquired a date - one of Ginny's Harpies teammates, a bird named Sara - but his heart wasn't in it. Yes, he'd put together a string of unexpected party surprises from balloons that popped every hour on the hour to a fireworks show that he felt may be his best ever solo effort, but he just couldn't muster enthusiasm tonight. To top it off, when he headed towards his bedroom to begin getting ready and his eyes roamed over the little red dress dusted with shimmery gold hanging on Hermione's door, his heart dug its own grave and unceremoniously buried itself.

In the shower, Hermione attempted to give herself a pep talk.

 _You can do this,_ she cheered herself on. _Seamus is still the great guy you know him to be. He's handsome and fun and kind. He likes you. He's a good kisser…_

 _Oh dear, kissing._ That is not where her mind should have gone. Any time she had tried to remember how she felt when Seamus kissed her, she was immediately taken back to the night after Christmas, enveloped in George's arms, inhaling George's scent, surrounded by his essence…

 _Not George. Seamus. Right. Good man. Dependable. Really?_ _The best adjective you have for him is dependable?_ _He sounds like an appliance, not the man you want to shag you senseless._

And suddenly, the dress Ginny made her buy seemed wholly inappropriate and far too misleading. She put it on anyway, amazed at how it hugged her curves and accentuated all the places a witch her age should want to show off.

 _I just don't think I want to show them off to Seamus,_ she admitted. _Oh, it's going to be a long night..._

 **~oOo~**

At five minutes til seven, the wards indicated a series of arrivals in and around 93 Diagon Alley. George had helped himself to two shots of Firewhiskey alone in his room as he got dressed, _a little liquid mood booster,_ he'd decided. Thus, when he opened the door to the first of his guests, he was as loud and boisterous as any who knew him would expect. The fact that Seamus was among the first to arrive didn't even bother him, on the outside anyway. Hermione walked into the living room just as the space began to fill up, and Seamus took two strides over to her, embraced her tightly, and leaned in to kiss her, but Hermione's head turned toward Ginny and Harry's arrival at the exact same moment, and his lips landed on her cheek, thank Merlin.

 _Dodged that one,_ the nervous girl thought. Though she wasn't as nervous as she might have been, given that she'd nicked a bottle of Ogden's finest Firewhiskey earlier that day and had been sipping from it as she dressed and did her hair and makeup. _Nothing wrong with taking the edge off,_ she'd convinced herself.

The party was in full swing, with people dancing, eating, and more than anything else, drinking. The kitchen table had been enlarged and turned into a makeshift bar, and Dean Thomas graciously tended to the alcoholic desires of the guests for most of the night. Eventually, however, even the bartender had too much to drink and wandered away after making eyes at a leggy blond witch whose date, she complained, had dumped her early on. Long before midnight, couples had taken to sneaking off, either downstairs to the shop or into the loo or Hermione's bedroom ( _Dammit George hadn't warned her to put a locking spell on her door the way he'd done his!_ ) for some quick, sloppy alone time.

Seamus was enjoying having Hermione on his arm, though he noticed in the first hour that she seemed a bit standoffish. He said nothing, however, until, just after eleven, when Ron and Harry had beaten him and Neville at Firewhiskey quidditch cups for the third straight game, and then he stumbled over to her and put his arm around her waist tightly.

"Le's go somewhere alone for a bit, whaddya say, love?" he slurred in her ear.

"Seamus, I don't think that's a good idea," Hermione responded. She too had been drinking quite a bit, but even tipsy, her first response was to protect herself.

"Come on, Hermione, we need to talk. Plus we can make up for lost time. Gods you're so gorgeous tonight! That dress...mmmmm...you look so good…" He was speaking, though a little too loudly, right in here ear, and he began to kiss it and her neck, albeit a little sloppier than she would have preferred. Still, when he nibbled on the spot just above her collarbone, she closed her eyes briefly and succumbed to the heat that automatically pooled in her lower belly.

"I know somewhere," she whispered, against her better judgment, and she took his hand and led him away from the party.

George had spent the first hour or so playing the awkward "first date twenty questions" with Sara, who was an attractive, tall, muscular 22-year-old. She was very forward, commenting on his lack of ear, wondering why someone's life goal would be to manage a joke shop, and even over-sharing some of the more intimate details she knew of Ginny and Harry's relationship - he was her brother, for Merlin's sake! Needless to say, the date was not going well. As often as he could, George busied himself in hosting duties until finally, late into the night, he spotted her wrapping her arms around Dean Thomas in the corner of the living room behind the bookshelf.

Congratulating himself on losing her attentions, he turned to survey the rest of the party just in time to glimpse a witch in a tight red dress lead an Irishman down the hall by the hand. He grabbed the closest bottle and headed into his bedroom, securing the door behind himself.

 **~oOo~**

"Where are we, Hermione?" Seamus's breath steamed a little in the frosty air.

"The roof. I figured it was the only place we could find that wouldn't already be occupied, since only George and I know how to get up here." Hermione cast a warming charm around the two of them as they sat down on a cement step. A few feet away were the myriad supplies of fireworks George would be setting off in less than an hour.

 _George..._ thinking of him had a sobering effect on her as Seamus again began to assault her neck and face with his mouth. As much as she wanted to give herself over to pleasure, which she was sure to feel if Seamus kept up his ministrations, her heart and her mind were united in engaging in a little more talk and a lot less action.

"Seamus," Hermione began, and she straightened up a little to put some space between them.

"I've missed ya, lass," Seamus said, cupping her face with his hands and kissing her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, and then finally her mouth.

"I've missed you too, but we can't…"

"Can't what?" He nibbled on her ear, his hands stroking her sides.

Gods this was harder than she'd thought.

"We should talk," she tried again. Acting on their own volition, her hands circled the dark-haired man's neck, drawing him into her.

 _No!_ Her mind commanded. _Focus!_

She stood up so quickly that Seamus fell over somewhat clumsily at the loss of contact. She apologized and started to speak again.

"I jumped to conclusions the last time we were together, and for that, I apologize and take full responsibility." She began her rehearsed apology. "I don't know what you think of my scars, but I do know that we were moving at a pace with which I was not comfortable. And now that we've been apart…" Her voice drifted off because she hadn't prepared that final part.

 _Now that we've been apart, what?_ _I've fallen for someone else? I've missed you and want to get back together? I wish I were up here with him and not you?_ Conflicting ideas flickered through her mind.

"Hermione," Seamus tried to speak seriously, but in his drunken state, he grinned lopsidedly, looking at her with more of a leer than with love. "I don't care about the scars you have. Those are in the past. A few scars aren't going to scare me away. You're hot even with 'em. Why don't you let me show you?" He reached out his hand for her, but she took a step away, shaking her head.

"No, you don't understand," she stated. "My scars are not just in the past; they are a part of me presently, and they'll be there in the future. I don't want to be desired in spite of them. I want someone to want all of me for all of me. Don't you see?"

Seamus stood up and approached her gingerly.

"What's the difference?" he asked. "I have a dent in my head, and that doesn't seem to bother you. If the scars aren't a big deal to me, isn't that enough?" Again he reached out to her, but this time he tripped on one of the launching devices George had set up, knocking over a few explosives.

"Shite, I'm sorry," he said woefully. Finally, Hermione looked him in the eyes and saw a more sober expression. "I'm sorry," he said again, but not about the fireworks this time. "Look, we've had some fun, but this isn't working. I don't know what happened, but you don't seem to like me anymore."

"Oh Seamus, I do, I do like you. Just, maybe not…" her voice trailed off sorrowfully. She hated the look he wore, hated that she had caused his big, green eyes to look so sorrowful.

The two stood in the cold night, awkwardly and somewhat drunkenly looking at one another, each face showing regret and sadness. The moment was broken by the noisy entrance of none other than George, who pushed the heavy metal door wide open and stumbled down the cement steps towards his launch site. He stopped in his tracks when he realized he was standing in between Hermione and Seamus, and even in his inebriated state he could tell he'd interrupted something serious.

"Right. Sorry, I'll just…" He intended to leave, but his innate desire to protect Hermione compelled him to regard the scene a little longer. It was clear by the distance between them and the heavy silence dividing them that the two had not reconciled. George's heart did a happy dance as he looked down at the display that was his purpose for going up to the roof in the first place, and he busied himself straightening the pieces that had been knocked over.

Seamus cleared his throat and walked over to where Hermione stood rubbing her hands up and down her arms, the warming charm having worn off. It would have been impossible for him not to see that the witch was distracted by George's presence; she hadn't taken her eyes off the redhead since he'd arrived. Shaking his head slightly, Seamus took her hands in his, leaned forward, and kissed her on the cheek.

"I hope you find what you're looking for. Take care," he said softly. He squeezed her hands one last time and turned to go back inside.

Hermione stood frozen on the spot, unsure what to do next. There went a perfectly wonderful wizard, one who wanted to be with her and promised not to judge her for her scars. But her body was turned towards George, who was still fiddling with the fireworks, and as her eyes reached him, she saw that he was focused on her as well. He put down the launcher and stood up straight, looking into his best friend's eyes the entire time.

"You okay?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah...I think so."

"Good."

"George?"

"Yes?"

"I -"

Loud counting and cheering erupted from below. "Five... Four… Three… Two… One… HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

George reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote control. He pressed a button and the fireworks exploded, lighting up the sky above them.

Hermione found herself gaping at the beautiful, colorful display, and the next time she sought its creator, she realized he was standing directly next to her. He put his arm around her shoulder and rubbed her gently, warming her.

"Happy New Year, Hermione," he whispered into her ear, nuzzling against her hair.

Hermione closed her eyes and soaked in his presence.

"Happy New Year, George," she replied, and she turned into his body and looked up at his open, sincere face.

For a moment, time stood still, and then the next thing they knew, their lips were locked onto one another, desperately seeking purchase with the other's mouth. Hands fisted in hair, body pressed against body, hearts pounded in exhilaration and passion.

As the fireworks show in the sky came to an end, the combustion on the roof slowed too, though neither was willing to let go of the other completely. It was as though if they weren't touching this wasn't real, and neither could fathom the disappointment of this being a dream.

George pressed his forehead against Hermione's and cupped her face with his hands. They stood that way, breaths slowing, eyes closed, for a few moments longer, before he spoke.

"That was quite a way to ring in the new year, Granger." Hermione opened her eyes and saw his twinkling playfully. She gripped his waist with her hands and pressed herself against him.

"Indeed, Weasley," she responded. "I was wondering if you were ever going to kiss me again, after Boxing Day."

Her bold acknowledgment of the events of six days ago startled George, but he smiled and admitted, "I've wanted to continue that ever since you broke off and ran to your bedroom." Her cheeks flushed at the revelation.

"I'm sorry for the way I ended it. But, if you wanted more, what was stopping you?" Hermione knew liquid courage was driving this line of questioning, but now that she and George were admitting their desires, it seemed a dam had broken and she couldn't stop herself.

"What stopped me was you making a date with another bloke for this party. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to kiss you when you slipped into a sexy little dress for someone else?"

Hermione smiled. "You think I look sexy?"

"Bloody gorgeous," George said simply. "It was killing me to see you with him. I'd be lying if I said I was sorry to have shown up in time to catch the final act."

"Not much of a show, though, honestly," Hermione said in a relieved tone. "Seamus is a great guy, but he's, well, he's not, that is…"

"He's not _what_?"

"He's not you."

George's smile stretched wider than he thought possible.

"No, he's not me, love. If he was, he'd be holding the most amazing witch in the world in his arms right now. But he's not. I am. I love you, Mi. I've loved you for a while now. I don't know what will happen next, but I don't care. I can't keep this in anymore. I love you."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, which wasted no time spilling over. She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed George lightly.

"I love you too," she tried the words out. She found immediately that not only did they feel right, but she couldn't help but smile when she said them. "I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, as you interrupted my studies and my workouts and my life, I fell in love with you. You've changed everything, George. And a year ago, I would have been so mad at someone swooping in and disrupting my life, but now, I'm just so glad you did! Oh, and by the way, I quit."

"You what?!"

"I quit, George. I'm giving you my notice. While you were away, I started to consider my options and I know exactly what I want to do."

"And what is that, exactly?"

"Everything," she responded with confidence. "I want the opportunity to research everything. I'm thinking of working on a Mastery or two. So I've made a list of all the skills I want to learn and the order I want to study them in. To start, I've applied to the healer training program at St. Mungo's. I start in February."

George took a step back, not releasing the pretty little witch in front of him, but staring at her, gobsmacked.

"Gods, Hermione, you don't do anything by halves do you? Study everything? That may be the swottiest line I've ever heard, but coming from your lips, it's also one of the hottest. You're just brilliant! And don't worry about the shop; I think I can convince Lee to stay on. But, uh, can we talk about these details tomorrow? There's a party going on downstairs, and I'm dying to show off my girlfriend. That is, er -"

George stopped himself, suddenly unsure if he'd presumed too much.

Hermione giggled and took his hand in hers. "Come on, George, it's time for me to introduce my boyfriend to my friends."

And they rejoined the party, starting off the New Year right.

 _Fin._

...

A/N: Thank you for reading my first multi-chapter fic! I have a few more pieces to this story that I've worked on over time, but this seems like the best place to end the coming together of George and Hermione. Maybe someday I'll post a few outtakes or an epilogue.


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